Waiting

Everyone but Hampton looked down, eyes locked on tiny screens. Hampton’s expensive artisans of optimistic speculation could no longer sustain nervous conversation.

Hampton mindfully sipped tepid coffee. Ignoring his stomach breakdancing to the beat of butterflies, he savored a donut. He wanted to remember such simple pleasures.

Anticipation clung to them like static ready to spark and ignite...would it be fireworks or a bomb? A knock on the door shattered their reticent silence. A bailiff opened the door.

“The verdict is in. Court resumes in five minutes.”

Certain of nothing but his surreal limbo ending, Hampton stood, then vomited.

From Guest Contributor JD Clapp

The Sermon

Pastor Franzmeier was disturbed. For his upcoming Sunday sermon, he'd chosen the Book of Genesis. Why not start there? "In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth." But then the nagging questions occurred – Could it have been different? Had the Almighty blown it?

He sat back in his chair, placing his third cup of coffee on the table beside him. How many more would he need? As he massaged his temples, a booming voice from the heavens above shook the room, overturning the cup. "YOU CALL THAT BLOWING IT, FRANZMEIER? LET'S SEE HOW YOUR SERMON GOES THIS SUNDAY…"

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Missing You

I am still looking for you. I wish you hadn’t left. Our hearts still hurt badly.

We’re on a never-ending roller-coaster ride desperately wishing to get off and find you on the other side.

But you’re not there.

You did your best in battle. In the end, you lost.

Now at peace, you lay alongside others; other brethren who fought their own battles and lost.

You’re no longer in pain or suffering. I should be content with that.

I remember your words, and I will do my best. As I am struggling to learn to continue on without the greatest.From Guest Contributor Hope Scippio

Hope is a student of journalism, graphic design, and broadcasting at Pikes Peak State College.

Turnaround Day

Midway through the exam my lead broke. What to do?

The boy across the aisle noticed.

“I brought extras. Take one,” he coaxed, extending an arm towards me.

Why would he offer to help me? I, the lowest achiever of the class; the one all classmates avoided.

Reluctantly I accepted his pencil, resuming my guesses to multiple choice questions.

“Good luck,” the same boy whispered, bending towards me.

I watched him rush to the front of the room to be the first to hand in his exam. He, the smartest student of the class.

The one who gave me hope.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction regardless of the season or location she finds herself in.

Time Tells All

The CIA flying the planes in 9/11 is awkward. To realize 6.5 trillion dollars spent to kill five hundred thousand terrorists at a cost of 8 million dollars per person is a lie? Making the question why pay for war when it's all a lie? RMS Lusitania 1982 documents revealed it carried ammunition. Remember the Maine 1976 investigation cleared Spain with the boiler being determined the cause of the explosion. Two million Vietnamese people died because of the Gulf of Tonkin event which never occurred. To realize Iraq had no weapons of mass destruction. Syria did not gas people.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Until Death

When I rode my bicycle past the Nazis they laughed and threw rocks at me. They hated our kind, and it was time to leave. I had no family, and lived in a small apartment alone, so it wouldn’t take long to pack. I neatly folded my suits and placed them into the luggage. I took the money I saved, stuffed it inside my jacket pocket, took one last look around and walked out the door to the train station.

A few months later, the Jewish families were rounded up and taken to camps.

My heart would ache until death.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Them Big Oak Trees

At first, her followers thought it was intended as a metaphor. Every acorn is a big bang all its own. Every tree the mother of countless worlds.

But the famous scientist was not speaking metaphorically. She'd cracked the greatest secrets of the cosmos. Our universe was born inside a tiny seed, bursting into life, which in turn gave birth to more trees and more universes. The math was both terrifyingly simple and unfathomably beautiful. The world no longer required religion and, without Gods, there was no more war or poverty. Peace and love reigned.

Until a giant squirrel ruined everything.

Sentinels

With the heavens above, eyes perceive blackness below. The silhouettes of lonesome silos dotting a barren landscape gives way to perceptions of ancient obsidian obelisks, sentinels erected by the offspring of some long-forgotten civilization, sating deities of seasons past.

Against a moonless night, one can appreciate the unencumbered band of the Milky Way, glorious gold and white light from hundreds of thousands of stars, blues, oranges and reds, sparkling beacons of potentialities adorning the night sky.

I repose beneath a blanket of starlight, and the encircling melody of coywolves lulls me to sleep as I long for dreams of you.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

The Sneeze

Otto couldn't stifle it. Did he want to sneeze all over Felice? No. But he did. And here he'd planned for a pleasant evening at the small BYOB Italian restaurant.

"God bless you, Otto," offered Felice as she grabbed her napkin."WHAT'RE YOU TALKING ABOUT!" It was a deep voice from above. Loud enough to shake the table.

Again, Otto sneezed. His nose was running now, but things weren't running well with Felice. And he'd brought a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

"God bless you, Otto," said Felice again, politely.

"NO WAY I'M BLESSING OTTO!" boomed the terrifying voice. "NOT OTTO!"

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Career Day

“Good work today, Boys,” Bud Peptide said to his sons, Spud and Pud. “We finished plowing the back 40. You fellas deserve a reward.”

Bud pulled some bills from his wallet and handed them to Spud.

“Head into town and buy yourselves your first drink at the Short Twig Saloon.”

The brothers rode into town, burst through the saloon door and bellied up to the bar.

“Two beers,” Spud said to the bartender.

The bartender looked the boys over.

“Can’t you read?” he said, pointing to the sign on the door. “NO MINORS!”

“We’re not miners,” Pud said. “We’re farmers!”

From Guest Contributor Lee Hammerschmidt

Lee is a Visual Artist/Writer/Troubadour. He is the author of the short story collections, A Hole Of My Own, It’s Noir O’clock Somewhere, For Richer or Noirer, Flash Wounds, and Pulp Stains. Check out his hit parade on YouTube!