It’s Not Me, It’s You

You hear the thin cries of a drowning man. You notice that seemingly innocent words like “today,” “yesterday,” and “tomorrow” have been censored. You pick quarrels with the baggers at grocery stores. You try but fail to ignore the prevalence of right-wing militias, foreign movies dubbed in English, shark sightings. You prefer baseball to football and a medically induced coma to either. You wonder what it’d be like to suffer a gunshot. You have a recurrent dream you’re lost in an old abandoned warehouse, usually with a friend you had growing up whose brother played Russian roulette once too often.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of THE DEATH ROW SHUFFLE, a poetry collection forthcoming from Finishing Line Press.

Five-Minute Rule

An apple drops onto the produce floor and bounces twice before rolling under the corn stack. You’d hoped to walk away, but three ladies saw it happen and are giving you an accusatory look. So you pick up the fruit and carry it to the baked goods section.

Five minutes later, you return the dropped apple and turn it inwards to hide the bruised spot and wet corn silk.

You grin with satisfaction and think of the poor sucker who doesn’t check his fruit before purchase.

At home, later that day, you unbag your peaches and notice they are mushy.

From Guest Contributor Jennifer Lai

Fate

Cold and hungry, I shivered on the platform.

Everything had been taken. The silverware from Grandmother Petra, tossed in a bag, was a knife to the heart. All our valuable paintings, ripped from the walls and tossed into a pile, was too much for my husband Jenko. He protested and got a bullet in the head. I held my chin high without weeping.

I’m alone, except for the hundreds of people waiting to board the train and wondering where we are going.

I lowered my head and pressed my hand against “The Star of David,” sewed onto my fraying coat.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Hawaiian Music

Before the visit to Florida, Jesse told him Elan was Hawaiian instead of black. You would think it shouldn’t matter but that would mean you didn’t know his father. During Katrina, people trying to survive, he couldn’t shut up on the phone of “the animals down there.” His take on Obama was that he was an “affirmative-action baby.”

They hadn’t been in the house fifteen minutes. His father had always loved music, especially classical, so he dropped that in, that Elan played the violin, string quartet.

His father handed Elan his old portable radio.

“Play something for me,” he said.

From Guest Contributor Jon Fain

Lost

He was deserted by the sun, forced to sleep at night. He would lay in bed, tossing and turning until the first rays of the sun would fall upon the earth. Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night, get out of bed and sit in the corner with his face hiding between his knees. Sometimes he would leave his room and wander alone in the silent streets where shadows would chase him into dark alleys. Sometimes he would just look up at the sky, smile and think that at least the moon hasn't left him yet.

From Guest Contributor Sergio Nicolas

The Office Visit

In his office at the university, Professor Kudrow pounds on the computer keyboard. His research paper needs a rewrite, his ex-wife wants more child support and he feels a migraine coming on. He wants to go home and get drunk.

His grad student, James, appears in the doorway with an older gentleman.

After introductions, James' father confronts the professor.

"My son paid you for a better grade, didn't he? Don't lie to me. I have documents."

The professor froze.

"Your silence is proof enough."

He turns to his son, "My son, a thief and cheat! I'm reporting both of you."

From Guest Contributor Deborah Shrimplin

On The Floor

Marty was a penny stock trader back in the 80s. A breathtaking collection of liars and cheats, everyone doing blow. Stock exchange officials were bribed. Client accounts were bled. It was something to behold.

His supposedly statelier sales manager was all smiles but for the dead shark eyes. He would say, "If people want yellow ties, sell them goddamn yellow ties."

Once or twice a month, after market hours, Marty would go out and stick up random banks, his rickety scheme to salvage honour.

His profession was put early to the silicon sword. Mercifully, Marty never saw the party end.

From Guest Contributor Kevin Campbell

Kevin writes in Vancouver, Canada.

Giant Ship

I listened to the sound of the waves smack against the giant ship, closed my eyes and pictured my wife’s face. Her radiant smile and long blond hair made my heart pulsate. Soon we’d be together once we docked in New York, and she’d be waiting for me with open arms and our son. I relished the thought.

I dropped the picture when the ship shuddered. I opened the door and panicked people filled the hallway.

“What happened?” I asked out loud.

“Titanic has hit an iceberg,” answered a fidgety man.

I went back into my cabin.

Titanic wouldn’t sink.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Only Beauty Survives

The king delighted in varying which crowns he wore. One day he’d wear a crown of gold; the next, a crown of silver or of iron, or even a crown eccentrically fashioned from barbed wire. When he wore the latter, he was always surprised when blood ran in rivulets into his eyes. The queen, meanwhile, hated anyone who might be thought more beautiful than she was. She frequently sent assassins throughout the land to eliminate all possible rivals. That sound isn’t thunder, people would say, but an assassin rapping on the door of a cottage until his knuckles are raw.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of The Death Row Shuffle, forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.

The Voice

Beginning on his sixteenth birthday, Kevin began to hear a voice in his head. A friendly voice, it offered advice and made recommendations regarding both important and unimportant topics alike. Kevin thought of it as a friend.

As time passed, the voice gradually became more insistent about certain themes. Of particular concern to the voice was what car insurance Steven used. This seemed like an unimportant matter to Steven, who was content to stay on his parents' insurance policy with Allstate. This extremely bothered the voice, and eventually Steven relented.

This 100-word story has been brought to you by Geico.