The Arena

He sat on the stone bench waiting his turn. All his training for the last ten years led up to this moment. He could hear the muffled roar of sixty-thousand screaming fans in the stadium above. If he won today, the Emperor would grant him his freedom and the citizenship.

His trainer signaled him to get ready. He picked up his shield and sword and walked to the platform that would slowly raise him to the arena floor. As his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, he saw the lions. A sudden foreboding flooded through his body. The crowd cheered.

From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius

The Cellar

Oksana pounded the door of Zoya's wooden house. She screamed.

"Zoya, the Red Army has surrounded the village. Hide, Zoya!"

Zoya, holding her toddler Ekaterina in her arms, opened the door.

"Oh, God, help us. Oksana, where's Father Nikolai?"

"They've started a fire in the church! Hide, Zoya."

"God have mercy. Run Oksana. We'll hide in the cellar." Zoya pressed her daughter tightly to her breast. She ran to the cellar.

Zoya embraced her daughter. She heard a crashing sound. When she realized the smoke was coming from above, she said, "I love you Ekaterina. We'll be together in Heaven."

From Guest Contributor Deborah Shrimplin

Historical Fiction Winner

Call me a sucker for Shakespeare, but my choice for the best Historical Fiction entry is Lady Macbeth, by Linda Lowe.

Here it is again, in case you missed it:

Life had become so boring, so beige boring. Every day it was hound the maids, light the candles, greet the guests. Then along came prophecy! What’s not to believe about a witch, let alone three? Once again, my world oozed with possibility.

What came to pass? Life in red, gushing red. There was blood in the soup, blood in the stew, blood on the hands of my husband. I thought about the plagues in Egypt, the Pharaoh who knew about miracles turned against him. I thought about science. That what flows, surely ebbs? While the old king’s blood ran blue.

Congratulations Linda, and thanks to everyone who submitted stories to our first ever contest. In my book, you're all winners!

And if you want to read the other submissions, you can find them here.

Of special note, a lot of you submitted more than one story, and because I was only posting one story per day, I didn't want to have repeat submissions early in the month crowd out first-time submitters. I'll be posting those extra submissions in the coming weeks. Moving forward, I'll close submissions before I start posting.

I'll be announcing a new contest soon, but in the meantime, keep submitting stories!

Gold

HISTORICAL FICTION SUBMISSION:

It was a scene out of a Joseph Heller novel. For three weeks, Nyhoff's platoon, at the behest of Colonel Walters, had driven them to take the god-damned hill. There was no apparent strategic value, and everyone assumed it was another cockamamie order from the generals. The generals rarely knew what they were doing.

But they eventually took the hill, and a lot of men died. Nyhoff wouldn't say they were good men, but they were men, and now they were dead. All because Colonel Walters had heard rumors of an abandoned cache of gold.

There was never any gold.

From Guest Contributor Gary Linehan

Sick World

It’s like a post-apocalyptic movie. A usually bustling city is eerily vacant. Essential supplies have come to include liquor, guns, and toilet paper. Who isn’t secretly embarrassed? Around midnight I take a puzzle apart just for the hell of it. The next morning my department holds a Zoom session on how to prevent cheating in online classes. Other professors mention they also have been having strange dreams. In mine, I’m eating Crown Fried Chicken on a bench while eyeballs the size of boulders roll across the grass and dirt, and a woman I recognize from TV weeps into her hands.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie Good is the author of What It Is and How to Use It (2019) from Grey Book Press, among other poetry collections.

It Would Be The End Of Prohibition For Harry

HISTORICAL FICTION SUBMISSION:

Harry didn't know what the big deal was. Sure, alcohol was prohibited (it was called Prohibition after all) but it was readily available if you knew where to ask. Harry knew where to ask.

His favorite place to get a bottle was the jazz joint by the river, the one popular with the colored folk. As far as Harry was concerned, they had the best gin and the best music. There were plenty of white folks there too, but Harry did his best not to be seen.

If his Ma ever found out he was drinking on a school night...

From Guest Contributor Jesse Debbins

Sacrifice And Prayer

John jumped into the trench for cover, and a dead soldier stared blankly into nothingness. John silently prayed, took a deep breath, reloaded his rifled musket and repositioned. He abhorred shooting at his own people, but that was the only way. President Lincoln wanted slaves freed and John believed slavery was inhumane.

John pulled out a picture of his wife and stared at her radiant smile. He said another prayer, kissed his wife’s face, climbed up the trench and fired. Return shots echoed in his ears.

His wife’s photo remained clutched in his hand as he fell to the ground.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

1970s Justice

HISTORICAL FICTION SUBMISSION:

Nevada shivered from the rush of adrenaline. Life was not fair, so why should she be? She cried for justice for her daughter. He laughed. She had never fired a gun. So uninformed she didn't know if she held a rifle or shotgun, nor the proper distance from her target. She took the gun, the one he used camping and to bag deer, from his end of the closet. She did not know the blast radius or the kick that would knock her on her ass. She did not know how to hunt a moving target, but she could learn.

From Guest Contributor Leah Holbrook Sackett

Searching

Robyn rolls down the car window and breaths in the fresh air. It is warm, but not enough to sit on the beach and take in the sun, or swim in the water.

Robyn notices a lone woman standing on the dock. Her back is turned, and head erect. The wind blows her black hair above the shoulders and seagulls soar in search of prey, while the waves ripple.

After Robyn finishes her coffee, she puts the car in gear and slowly backs up. She hears deafening screams and jams on the brake.

The woman on the dock is gone.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Strange Sightings

HISTORICAL FICTION SUBMISSION:

Bill watched as fire tore the sky. Just as suddenly, the flame disappeared and a streak of dark smoke hit the ground. Whatever noise sounded at the impact was too distant for Bill to hear.

He hopped on his tractor and headed to the next field. He'd heard of airplanes in Albuquerque, but never actually seen one.

What Bill found at the crash site sent him running. As he drove to Roswell to inform the authorities, he was passed by a line of army trucks headed to his farm. By the time he returned home, the strange vehicle was gone.

From Guest Contributor Chris Thompson