Dreaming Of Mitch

I’m wearing my navy blue, long sleeve shirt that says, “Nevertheless She Persisted,” just like the one I have in real life. I’m standing on the shoulder of a mighty highway, with my thumb out! Me, looking to hitch a ride to Washington DC! Was Mitch even there? Was Congress still in session? What about security? That’s the trouble with dreams. They’re stingy with details. I’ll leave them to my ride, who’s shown up driving an eighteen-wheeler. He’s honking and honking that bazooka kind of horn. It’s saying hurry up. It’s saying you’ve got work to do, girl. Get in.

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

In That Moment

Chuck entered the car in a hurry and drove off, tires screeching. His wife, Hallie, was in surgery and he promised to be there when she awakened. He sipped his Starbucks coffee and wondered when the traffic would let up, cursing and punching the steering wheel.

After an hour, the cars started moving and Chuck sped up determined to make it on time, when his cell rang. He turned and grabbed the phone. In that one moment his eyes were off the road, he swerved and crashed into a guardrail.

Chuck would be at the hospital, but not for Hallie.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Perspectives

In the past, they described Michael as an “introvert” and “sensitive.” They said he was “different, but he’s harmless.” “He’s a good kid, just a little shy.”

Today, they said he’s a “loner” and is “withdrawn.” “I knew something was wrong with that kid. “He had no friends at school and never seemed to want any friends. He sat and ate alone in the cafeteria.” “Sometimes other kids teased and made fun of Michael.”

The headline read: Michael Stocktan, age 19, entered Morris High School with his dad’s handgun and shot 19 students and a teacher. Three are critically wounded.

From Guest Contributor David W. Cofer

What You Don’t See

Piano sounds drift muffled through the walls. I inhabit a dark little corner. Like every other space I’ve inhabited, it’s become utterly cluttered. My work involves a lot of sharp edges and loose ends. Sometimes cheating is required. That explains being strict about wearing a mask. I travel to many different places looking for roses: handmade, bought, fake, and real. The ones hanging over my head have recently been cured. I like having my history nearby. But what you don’t see is just as important as what you do see – for example, that the tree outside the window is dead.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's latest collections are The Titanic Sails at Dawn from Alien Buddha Press and What It Is and How to Use It from Grey Book Press.

Tomorrow I Won’t

I walk by your bar. Not that I care if you are there, but because it’s on my way home. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

I could ask you. Ask if you found someone else, ask if you are just too busy for me, ask if you ever really cared. But asking means you would tell me. Maybe I don’t really want to know. Tomorrow I’ll go a different way home. Tomorrow I won’t walk by your bar. Tomorrow I won’t look at my phone, longing for a message from you. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

From Guest Contributor Tyler Ashton

The Final Letter

Thelma raced to the door when she heard the clang of the mailbox. She looked forward to the mail. It gave her hope on these bleak days. Only one envelope today. It was from PFC Herman Davis, dated July 14, 1944.

She ran back in the house, her hands shaking. The screen door bounced closed behind her. “Jesse, Jesse,” she called for her husband. It was too soon. She just buried Freeman last week.

“What’s wrong,” Jesse asked.

“Here, here,” she said handing him the envelope.

Jesse instantly knew what it was. This was Freeman’s last letter before he died.From Guest Contributor David W. Cofer

A Normal Day

Bree walked up the subway steps into the abundant sunshine. It was a beautiful fall day, and the streets were filled with pedestrians hurrying to work. Cars honked and buses came to a halt at their designated stops. It was a normal day in the city of Manhattan.

Bree stopped for a bagel and tea at the cart in front of her building. The owner greeted her good morning and handed her the lightly buttered bagel and tea, sweetened with Equal and skim milk. After paying, she turned.

The rumble under her feet would be a moment she’d never forget.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Junk

There’s so much still to suffer that even tediously waiting for a train that’s hours late would be a grateful interruption. People are digging in the burning soil with bare hands. My wife’s there. My mother, too. I was going to join them, but now I can’t. It’s as if I’ve become, without my consent, a junk collector. Strange items keep appearing outside the door: a pamphlet, “Human Beings against Music”; rusted bedsprings; a bundle of pencils with broken points; feathers from random birds. Someday, I suppose, children will ask me, “What was it like, the end of the owls?”

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

The Landing

Andy hears a strange hum. He walks up the hill. At the bottom he sees a flying saucer spinning.

The saucer shows signs of corrosion, dents and dings dot the worn skin. Dirt and grime blemish its surface.

Andy thinks the damaged craft is landing. Too his surprise the vehicle starts spinning faster and gains altitude. In seconds the ship is above him, then gone.

Andy didn’t know they landed three years ago. Moments before Andy arrives the saucer had emerged from the ground. After spending all that time under the earths’ crust exploring and meeting the inhabitants they leave.

From Guest Contributor Denny E. Marshall

Kiss Your Ass Goodbye

There are always more volunteers than available spots on the firing squad. But the really terrible part isn’t how cold it is out. It’s how much I tremble. The I Ching advises, “Wait in the meadow,” meaning caring for a cow will bring luck. I can remember a time when everyone wasn’t in such a hurry to fuck off to somewhere. Now, whatever phone number I punch in, the suicide hotline picks up. I think about mentioning this to someone. And then I get distracted by the wind and the rain and the loud kissing noises they seem to make.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good