Blocked

“C'mon, Helen, add me back! I know you're still active.”

She knocked a few more times on the portion of the wall where the door had been, hopelessly. Livid, she cursed the day she granted Helen authority to set permissions in her house.

It was progress, they said, that rooms and buildings could be subject to malleable privacy permissions. But now, locked outside, she missed the days when connections were not so easily lost.

No message came from inside, but, crouched with ears against the wall, she thought she could hear the distant buzz of postings addressed to someone else.

From Guest Contributor Leonardo A. Castro

Her Recipe

With more downs than ups, Francine realized she needed to make a drastic change. To reverse an unfulfilled lifestyle where only food seemed to delight her.

She would find a new recipe. Something appetizing. Fresh. Not too many ingredients for she wouldn’t know how to put it together. Unwanted ones not given a chance. She’d aim for excellence maintaining good judgment in taste. Leave critics aside.

After going through her closets and emerging empty-handed, she looked at a mirror and smiled. Grabbed car keys off a dresser.

She figured out her recipe for happiness.

Clothing stores were not far away.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, and Espresso stories.

Concluding Forever

We thought we’d have forever, but forever doesn’t last as long as it once did. One year, seven months, four days since we wed. Your beauty captivated me. Never thinking of yourself, you touched many lives, changed them, helped people achieve their deepest aspirations. You challenged me, forced me to chase my dreams. But what about your dreams, desires? You’ll never reach them now. You were there for me, but I failed you. Forgive me?

I’ll never forget. Never stop chasing. You’ll be with me forever my love, more than just a stone in the ground, part of me.

Goodbye.

From Guest Contributor Joshua Lanham

We Are Not Responsible For Lost Or Damaged Baggage

Let him hold and spoon your every nook and cranny of pre-decaying skin. Cut yourself slightly to scrutinize the way you bleed. Is it different?

During his flight later on, he will serve the peanuts and diet cokes to suits and pantsuits that view themselves as better, and this time they will be right. He knows, you know, and the ten untainted cells between you both know, too.

Tell your all-knowing daughter that you, Daddy, are too good at making friends.

Give tickets out with fervor.

Let yourself believe for a mere moment that you can run away for good.

From Guest Contributor Jacqueline McGarry

Only For A Moment

Astronaut Eric Shaffer sighed as he looked out the window. Venus was rapidly receding away, its surface invisible beneath the yellowish cloud layer that gave it that distinctive color. How he longed to see the blue of Earth again.

Four months earlier, Apollo V had left Earth. Months spent traveling for this: a six-hour flyby at thousands of miles distance. It was the closest he'd ever get to another world.

Shaffer gave a sad smile. It was time for the long journey home. A journey taken for nothing but a short glimpse. Yet, he decided, it was worth it.

From Guest Contributor Matthew Kresal

A Quick Snip

Grapes are always the go-to example: still purple and plump just seedless now, no lasting side-effects. My wife and the female doctor concur. I'm thinking laser as I agree.

I ease onto the metal bench outside the clinic as the local wears off. Once we decided to adopt, having our own kids didn't seem right. She's with her doctor right now. A session to get her over the trauma of my procedure.

I need a session also. To confirm I was insane for ever saying yes. My groin's throbbing and I'm not thinking grapes anymore. It's raisins, useless, shriveled raisins.

From Guest Contributor Garry Gunnerson

Vacation 2250

Still a little queasy, she stepped out of the ‘Beach Hut,’ glad the temporal capsule was not constrained to contemporary hygiene amenities.

Feeling vulnerable in her figure-hugging woollen tank suit – despite built-in modesty shorts – she moved to the water’s edge and marvelled at the carefree gambolling of the beachgoers: naive inhabitants of the Interwar Era, taking time off from the trials of the Great Depression.

Her ocular bioscan implant picked him out from the crowd: Tommy.

She grinned at the one-piece swimsuit her great-grandfather wore.

Translucent seawater free of corrosive algae was an emotional revelation.

She hadn’t expected to cry.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

Disembodied

Glassy unseeing eyes stare out from rows of faces. Bloodless lips frame mouths, some closed, some open displaying teeth, some smiling, and some solemn. Disarticulated limbs lie about. Arms and legs in varying degrees of flexion and extension wait, motionless. Hair wigs of different colors and textures, long and short, decorate the windowsills of the dark and silent room. Headless torsos, male and female, some nude, some partially clothed, some prone, some supine, so lifelike yet so inanimate, complete the macabre scene.

On Monday morning, workers arrive to begin another week of readying manikins for the department store’s window display.

From Guest Contributor Judy Salz

And That's That

“How are you really, dear?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sweetheart, you can tell me.”

“I am telling you. I’m just fine.”

“Are you getting out?”

“I’m out right now.”

“With someone.”

“I’m here with you.”

“A man! Are you seeing anyone?”

“I see a lot of men, mother. I’m not dating anyone, if that’s what you want to know”.

“What about that nice young man…”

“He’s married.”

“Oh.”

“You know, mom, I met this wonderful sixty-year-old man.”

“Oh, darling, sixty?”.

“He’s perfect. He’s dying to get laid.”

“JENNIFER!”

“I gave him your number. Have you had the chicken salad here?”

From Guest Contributor Jean Blasiar

Prescience

Liam awoke from a phantasm where puppy-like pigs defecated down his back, their feigned embraces weighing him down so much that he was left behind by his peers as he strove to participate in some great undefined quest.

As sleep dispersed, he really hoped it was allegorical. He dragged himself to the bathroom for ablutions and a shower. Today’s staff outing should clear all that from his head.

The phone rang, interrupting the ‘bathing therapy.’ He answered, dripping.

“Hello.”

“Liam, Jeremy here.” Head zookeeper.

“Pete’s called in sick, would you relocate the vampire bats to their new enclosure?”

Hell.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid