Chaos

George fires his rifle, and the bullet hits the enemy in the gut. The man lands with a thud, and blood drips from his mouth. George seeks cover in a nearby ditch, men screaming and dying all around. The sun is fading, and the firing hasn’t stopped. He can’t stay there any longer. One of his comrades jumps in.

“Charles, we need to get out soon or we’ll be sitting ducks.”

They wait until the firing slows and run.

George gets to the other side, but Charles gets fatally shot in the chaos.

George continues running and never looks back.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Platero And I - Louisette

The girl next door—I keep forgetting her name—just came by, Platero. She'd found an injured woodcock.

The bird was in bad shape, covered in blood, breathing weakly and blinking irregularly.

“She's going to be fine, isn’t she, mister (she keeps forgetting my name)”, she asked.

Despite her tender age, she may have suspected that the animal endured excruciating pain and that release from suffering proved to be the only possible act of mercy.

“I gave her a nice name. Louisette.”

I'm glad you didn't witness it, dear Platero, even though now you're sniffing the fluttered and sticky feathers.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

Kingdom

I want to assure you we are all safe here. We have adequate resources to wait until all of the infected have died. With our fortifications and firepower there is no way any plague carriers can get in here. Furthermore, all of you have been chosen for your talent, intelligence, and genes for repopulating the country when the time is right. As long as you trust me as your King, we will prevail against all challenges. Questions? Yes, my good friend Geraldine Jackson. King, have you looked in a mirror lately? You have a red splotch on your right cheek.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

When The Clock Strikes Twelve

It wasn’t a new year; it was the new year. Margo watched the clock tick down to midnight with bated breath. Her hand tightened around the stem of her bubbly champagne flute until her fingers turned red. A fresh start; a new beginning. As the clock struck twelve and the ding sounded the glass stem shattered in her grasp, forcing crystal shards into her palm. Blood ran down her wrist. With a resigned sigh she flopped back on the couch and watched the red drops dripping from her fingers permanently stain the rug. Oh well. There was always next year.From Guest Contributor Madison Randolph

Madison is a reader by day and a writer by night. Her works have appeared in Friday Flash Fiction, The Drabble, Bright Flash Literary Review, Spillwords, The Chamber Magazine as well as 101 Words under the name Ryker Hayes. She can be found on Instagram madisonrandolph17 or Twitter @Madisonr1713

Apologia Pro Vita Sua

A college-age girl collecting money – no doubt for a worthy cause – rings the doorbell, sending our little white dog into a barking frenzy. Sorry, I tell her after kicking aside the dog to get to the door, but we gave last week. She doesn’t believe me. I can read it in the sudden hardening of her face. If anything, she’s probably thinking it’s necessary sometimes to kill what is in order to bring about what is not. I start to shut the door and then stop and glance up the street. The falling leaves die saying, I want to go.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie Good's latest poetry book is The Horse Were Beautiful (2022), available from Grey Book Press. Redhawk Publications is publishing his collection, Swimming in Oblivion: New and Selected Poems, later this year.

Fantasy

Have you ever had a day where you just want to fantasize? I have. After long hours at a desk, on the way home after finding a seat on the railroad, I close my eyes and envision flying the Millennium Falcon. Chewbacca sits beside me, while Han Solo is working on something in the back room, cracking jokes. I make the jump to lightspeed and Chewbacca roars. I slowly cruise through the darkness of space and admire the surrounding planets.

Life is good and I’m excited about our mission.

The conductor announces my stop.

I exit the train to reality.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

In The Memory Of A Thought To Be

Vernon took his knife and silently pulled it from the tree bark. With a shriek, the first crow flew from the hollow, resting on the ragged grass. Its feathers ruffled, and its face pinched.

Vernon's skull pushed itself upward, bursting through his skin, and making a nest in the now-vacant cavity. Vernon's eyes fell upon the recess within, creating a rotted root system.

He could not believe in any of those things.

Vines sunk from branches covering the ground, winding around tree trunks and breaking them apart. The crow's mouth yawned open, tearing at Vernon's thoughts with claws and teeth.From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

My Forest Camp

At my forest camp, he collapses on to the mattress in my tent, and is asleep in moments. I pack my travel bag, leave him a note saying he can have the tent and everything in it, light some incense and put it at my tiny shrine to Lord Ganesh, say a prayer for him and the other strugglers around here, feed peanuts to the local monkeys, my friends for the last few months, and walk back along the path into the village and across the bridge over the River Ganges towards Rishikesh, to get a bus back to Delhi.

From Guest Contributor Stephen House

Brain Changes

My mind has lost its stickiness, my thoughts are stalling out. Questions I have no answers for are good for rewiring my brain, they say, weaving it through with logic. So why did I send some drawings to my blind friend? She said, “I can’t see, remember?” “Can’t someone look at them for you?” “Their ability to see doesn’t make me less blind.” I didn’t get whatever it was she was getting at, so I hung up. Maybe I should call her back. I could tell her about the new show at the Drawing Center. She might want to come.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell

Cheryl's books include several collections of poetry, and a series of novels called Bombay Trilogy. Recent work has appeared in journals from India, Ireland, UK, Canada, Greece, and the US.. Look her up on Facebook

Kidney

Because blood had been found in my urine, I was ordered to have my kidneys imaged. After I was adequately undressed, the doctor or technician took a thick wand-like instrument and ran it around my back. I could see what they could see on a small screen. Everything looked fine until a bright orange spot turned up on one of my kidneys. Thoughts of cancer or other possible diseases ran through my head. Would I lose a kidney? The exam was over soon, and I was sent away after being told that the results would be back in ten days.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley