Amusement Parked

One day city visit. While parents shopped around, brother and I went to an amusement park.

We knew what we wanted to ride. Had to first go past bumping cars, carousels and the like in the kiddie section. When I spotted the roller coaster in the distance, we ran for it.

One of the biggest, a newscaster once said. The TV screen showed riders gripped with terror, rolling down in lightning speed, screaming all the way. Adrenaline rush for sure.

“Sorry, kiddos,” an attendant hollered. “Closed down for maintenance. Should be running in a day or two.”

We weren’t amused.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction regardless of the season, although she prefers spring.

Sweet Freedom

Mira closes her eyes and concentrates.

“Very good, Mira. This time you held your concentration and an apple appeared.”

Mira takes a hard bite of the fruit with a distasteful expression. She is telekinetic, and her parents sent her to a special school for young adults with the same talent. She hasn’t forgiven them.

“Try it again, only think larger.”

Mira resumes her position and raises her lips into a grin.

The roof caves in, and a black convertible appears, surrounded by falling rubble. Mira gets in, puts the car in gear and speeds through the debris into sweet freedom.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Thermonuclear War Is On

The wind is blowing. The strong wind means something from memories. Memories? 1978 Christmas.. Jimmy Carter used nukes against Russia. How do I know? Same reason why I know Douglas MacArthur in Korea had to be changed out so many times, making him look crazy. Because? The soul swapping allows that dead reality to live more. Same with JFK did the governor of Texas wear a cowboy hat? Or did someone else kill him? Thermonuclear war is not winnable. Alternative realities are dying right and left just 90 degrees from your sight is not funny. Laugh but Hawaii was nuked.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

When Cupid Calls

They laugh their boisterous laughs, holding hands with Pride seated in the gaps between their knuckles. Butterflies overflow their love-struck hearts and they try their best not to erupt in a bashful fit of giggles. He looks at her like she is all the world's treasures in one. And she looks at him like he’s everything her heart has ever yearned for.

Then they leave the room, white with Shame, hands still clumsily interlocked. But with preening eyes, tugging hearts and Cupid calling them away to the gaze of their secret lovers.

Oh, how first love always ends in regret.

From Guest Contributor Mahathi Sathish

The Stalker Inside Me

I’ve been watching them. Her and her baby. I know she'll leave the baby alone in a minute for what she thinks is only seconds. But precious seconds for me.

She turns and enters a walk-in closet.

I move closer.

The aroma of milk on its breath sends me over the edge.

I jump.

I'm grabbed by the back of my neck while still in flight and hauled against the wall. I didn't know she was a ninja.

He storms into the room.

"Why did you do that to Churchill?"

"Keep your freaking cat away from my baby."

Divorce follows.

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes

E has works in The Purple Pen, The Haven, Spillwords, Centina Pentina, Entropy, NanoNightmares and a collection of the works, Flash Crazy, was published in 2021 and is available on Amazon.

The Good, The Bad, And The Stinky

It's said to be good luck for homeowners when a carpenter leaves a tool in your walls after a job. They might hide a fish in the vents if they get screwed over for money. It will take years for the smell to dissipate. Whoever built this house went a little too far. At least that's what I'll tell the police.

They're still looking for my partner. I suspect that she and the contractor left town with my money.

In my mind, I can still see the bodies, skin crumbling, bones exposed. The smell of flesh lingers inside my skull.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

It’s Him

Jeff got drunk after she told him, “It's not you. It’s me.”

But Jeff knew it was him. It always was.

He got so whiskey drunk that he woke the next afternoon tasting chalk. He couldn’t remember downing all those pills, but he must have because the bottle was half empty. Not half full—definitely half empty.

He spent three minutes on the help hotline he found on the internet.

“Dude,” the counselor said, “maybe it really wasn't you.” That’s when Jeff hung up. Probably just some college kid volunteering for a class project.

Jeff would survive. He always did.

From Guest Contributor John Sheirer

John lives in Western Massachusetts and is in his 30th year of teaching at Asnuntuck Community College in Northern Connecticut where he edits Freshwater Literary Journal (submission welcome). His work has appeared recently in Wilderness House Literary Review, Meat for Tea, Poppy Road Review, Synkroniciti, Otherwise Engaged, 10 By 10 Flash Fiction, The Journal of Radical Wonder, Scribes*MICRO*Fiction, and Goldenrod Review. His latest book is Stumbling Through Adulthood: Linked Stories. Find him at JohnSheirer.com.

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