Wishes

I saw a comet yesterday. It came as though from nowhere, soaring across the deep blue expanse of sky inset with bright stars. Watching it, I felt youthful again, glowing with vibrant dreams and astronomical aspirations—reborn like a phoenix from the ashes of adulthood.

In a moment of euphoria, I closed my eyes and wished for the love of my life. The fiery tail ripped through the night, searching for my soulmate. When I opened my eyes, my wife was standing before me.

Then I remembered—comets are hard, icy rocks, and they suck the life from the sun.

From Guest Contributor Taylor Shepeard

Homecoming

Years of content memories awaited familiar arms. Angel wings brushed bedposts softly, listening for command. Good-byes graciously accepted. Passing without fear, anticipating this new journey, unknown. Each shallow breath now numbered, every fragile heartbeat heard. Yesterdays spent letting go of earthly things and people deeply loved. Words need not be spoken, it was understood. No sorrow or regret. She would miss them, but only for awhile. Withered hands smiled, soothing random tears. No pain present, peace her blanket. Voices heard yet distant, creased lips pressed in prayer. Fading eyes searched light, bent fingers directed misplaced hair. Would he recognize her?

From Guest Contributor Christy Schuld

Waiting For The Days To Pass

You’re my obsession. My addiction. I lay on my sheetless mattress under the black light--posters glowing. I’m chain smoking. Looking at old photos of us. Happy moments frozen in time; hugging, kissing, making faces. Going through my withdrawals. I wipe my nose. The music dwindles. I drift in and out sleep. Dreaming of babies. The one that’s decaying from our past mistakes, and your new plump one that’s not mine. I’m awake, and I’m breathing. Rapidly. I’m covered in cold sweat. Yet, this won’t stop me...when you call, and you will, I’ll come...because I need my fix.

From Guest Contributor McKenzie A. Frey

Old Flame At A Party

“Long time no see,” she says tipsily, introducing me to a ‘Rick.’ There’s tension between them, something’s not quite right.

Though remaining a looker, she doesn’t turn heads anymore.

I was too dull for her then, with my monogamy, my love of poetry. Chatting, I mention I still like T.S. Eliot, and have a family.

“Oh, settled down, have we?” she says, her tongue as sharp as ever, yet I sense an envy beneath the sarcasm.

“Well, I’m not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be,” I quote, a certain satisfaction in my self-deprecation, when bidding these lost souls goodnight.From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher

Ian studied English Literature at Oxford University many years ago. He has had short stories published in various genres in Schlock! Webzine, Schlock! Bi-Monthly, Short-story.me, Anotherealm, Under the Bed, A Story In 100 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, and in anthologies by Horrified Press and Rogue Planet Press. He is an Affiliate Member of the Horror Writers Association.

Reader's Choice

“What is essential in war is victory, not prolonged operations. Sun Tzu.”

“Eh?” Brett peered over the safety cage of the Ferris wheel, checking for progress.

Toni made to repeat herself. “What is–"

“I heard you. What the hell are you blabbering about?”

“Well, Sun Tzu was a philosopher–“

“Psychopath who fancied himself as a guru. Sure you want to be quoting him in our predicament? Not sure He’s a fan.” Brett pointed skyward.

“Tut, they’ll fix it. I’m just commenting on their taking their sweet time.”

There was a deafening grinding of metal.

There were screams from below.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

TKO

In a year in which everything was falling apart, both personally and globally, Joe wasn’t prepared for the news of Scott’s death. The impact was more devastating than any of the hundreds of punches he’d absorbed during their fight trilogy.

“How?”

“Heart attack.”

Joe looked at the photos and trophies on the bookshelf across the room, mementos from the recent past, a time when he and Scott, though rivals, had been on top of the world.

Now Scott was dead, too young and too soon, reminding Joe of the one fight he, like everyone else, had no chance of winning.

From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten

The Enigmatic Dot

Inquisitively, her eyes narrowed as she attempted to see it.

“I don’t get it!” she said. “It’s just a blank sheet of paper with a small black dot on it.”

Carl showed it to others. Mike held it up against the light. Tom ran his fingers over it. His teacher unequivocally dismissed it as balderdash and several online friends expressed how deeply offended they had all been by its very concept.

The fact that no-one else could see it seemed strange to Carl.

To him, it was simply a small black dot with a blank sheet of paper on it.

From Guest Contributor JR Hampton

Unfortunately

The nausea didn't truly begin until about 20 minutes after. I sat there in the bathroom staring at a singular particle of black mold on the hinge that connects the seat to the toilet, editing my breathing so I could overhear the conversation they were having on the porch. I loved listening to their voices— hearing other people living. It was unusually bright in that bathroom. “Am I the only one who’s seen this mold?” I thought to myself. I got up and walked over towards the frosted glass window to close it, hearing the voices pause shortly after. Unfortunately.

From Guest Contributor Michael T. Schulte

Her Nebulae

Space lover, every other morning she flips through iridescent images of interstellar clouds. Those nebulae are hers. She has collected many - Crabs and Orions, even Eagle's pillars.

Today the Eye of Helix is just coming out on her thigh - fine web of filaments, embedded in a red and slate-blue oval. An older mark on upper arm begins transitioning from purple to the shades of yellow and green. She promises herself to find its alien soulmate tomorrow. Now she must go, and she packs her school bag void with hope. The regions of bright nebulosity are safely hidden under shapeless uniform.From Guest Contributor Natalia Kay

In the Paris Catacombs

My tour is just two thousand meters of the hundred kilometer labyrinth that forms this subterranean ossuary.

The tunnel walls are stacks of femurs, tibias, scapulas, et alia, interspersed with grinning skulls.

Six million dead unceremoniously disinterred, generation upon generation, from centuries ago.

Good, evil, male, female, beautiful, ugly, aristocrat, artisan, everyone has attained an undignified égalité here.

I could laugh myself to scorn at this macabre absurdity. Not a ghost in sight, merely piles of bones!

Back in the land of the living, I emerge into the rush hour: busy throngs of stick people, all sharing the same destination.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher

Ian studied English Literature at Oxford University many years ago. He has had short stories published in various genres in Schlock! Webzine, Schlock! Bi-Monthly, Short-story.me, Anotherealm, Under the Bed, A Story In 100 Words, and in anthologies by Horrified Press and Rogue Planet Press. He is an Affiliate Member of the Horror Writers Association.