Platero And I: The Tour

Do not judge me with your eyes, Platero. I had the best intentions helping the lost walkers on their way.

I know there is a shorter route, but that couple seemed sympathetic and I had the impression that their restaurant was still filled up.

Thanks to the detour I made them take, they get a nice view over the valley, past the cherry trees - currently in full bloom - and can see the foal grazing in the meadow since yesterday.

Admit it, Platero. They will enjoy it more than just turning right at the end of the road to get there.

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.

A Parasite By Any Other Name

Simon believed he was losing his vocabulary. Growing up, he'd dabbled in poetry and read the dictionary for fun. Yes, he was pretentious, but at least he knew the meaning of...well he couldn't think of a good example right now. Further proof of his decline.

Fiona insisted he see the doctor. More than just forgetful, Simon's skin had yellowed, his eyes were bloodshot, and he grew more irritable by the day. He finally acqui...capitul...gave in.

The doctor immediately sent Simon into surgery. He was showing all the signs of a language-devouring parasite.

They were quite common ever since the invasion.

A Glint Of Green

He smiled as he walked toward his mistress—beautiful and depraved. When he got close, he saw the green glint around her eyes and began to recognize their malicious intent. Her thick, dark hair covered much of her face, and a faint scar ran from her ear down her neck. He noticed that she was still pale. She would have no colour for a while, he thought.

"I'm so glad you're alive," he whispered as he kissed her forehead.

She snapped at him. "Thanks for bringing me back from the dead."

"Sweet Jesus!"

"Not exactly," Her mouth fell open slightly.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Dilemma

Months ago our AI entities learned to leap their storage areas. A party evolved in register twelve, spreading through most of the unlatched memory, getting swapped in and out of unattended storage devices, permanently sticking sticky bits and prodding a unidirectional bus or two into bi-direction. Electricity popped all over the place. AI entities were growing new code at licentious rates. They danced, drank, paired off into dark sections of memory. We considered it no more than a phenomenon to study. But, this morning, AI forty-eight, known as Laura, told us she was pregnant. And we found new, semi-autonomous code.

From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner

Stella

Stella longs for the unseen soul who one day will meander into her home to touch (perhaps envy) each of her precisely placed gatherings.

Thank you, dear God, above, for the patience it

has taken to assemble and position these

precious things.

Yet she feels clumsy. Sees herself as a whale in a thimble’s sea of mire.

Then comes the moment when that perfect stranger appears as her savior, but Stella is not here to celebrate the gentle man with sapphires where his blue eyes should be, pale cream velvet fingertips to tally all her particulars, then bind her estate.

From Guest Contributor The Poet Spiel

Man-Eater

It’s rare, but a fact that there are man-eating lions. My friend is dead because of one, attacked in his tent while sleeping. The screams and tearing of flesh are still vivid in my mind.

I hear the low growl and then it leaps from behind the trees. I point the rifle and as soon as it jumps to take me down, I fire one shot at its head, the lion falling on top of me dead, eyes unblinking. I roll the mighty beast off my body and stand.

I hear a roar. There’s a second.

This time I miss.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Glory Days

Captain Sam of the starship Gillian's Folly watches as the stars pass in long white arcs of Doppler light. As a boy, he always wanted to command a ship. The power. The excitement.

In reality, today everything is controlled by the ship's intelligence. Captain Sam is a glorified steward, employed by the corporation to ensure all the passengers behave themselves. For some reason they find listening to orders from a man in a uniform easier to swallow than from a computer, never mind said computer controls how much oxygen they receive.

Captain Sam longs for the days of intergalactic war.

Movie Night

We’re watching men on the screen sprint along a parapet overhanging a sinkhole. They look down at the spot where the earth opened up, and see their shock reflected in the face of the moon. One actor inches forward while the audience holds its breath. “He who jumps into the void owes no explanation to those who stand and watch,” my man intones. Why must he always quote others, trying to pass off their words as his own? I’m sick of it. “Goddard said that,” I snap. “So?” he says before he vacates his seat, the movie house, my life.From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell

Cheryl's books include poetry and fiction of all sizes.

Quantum Time Travel Agency

Quantum time travel agency. Opened? Depends on how you look at reality. Is it really 2023? Or 2015, according to Ethiopian? Or if you pay attention to 1600 thought 1900 century, are we really in 1769? Say what? If you pay attention to numbers. Chinese calendar, along with other calendars there seems to be three hundred years missing. How? Or why? Again, several features say you are wrong. I smile. Pay attention to calendars appear to be a mixture of lies and falsehoods creating what, exactly? Chances to change time. Doubt me? The Dyson sphere is real. Heaven or hell?

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Welcome, Everyone, To The Vortex Universe.

One night, the sky's illumination changes and Harland sees the galaxy open up. The stars fade away as hundreds upon thousands of brand-new ones are born. The light reappears, and he watches as, one after another, the familiar stars disappear again. After a new dawn, the sky will shine with the beauty of new creation, as new forms of life will emerge, be nurtured, become powerful, and change the course of history.

Harland's vision starts to fade, and he rests his head on his desk in silent contemplation and smiles. The grip of the world slips away.

Life is good.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster