Gone Fishing

The fish hook didn’t stir in the stillness of the water.

There’s a dark, ominous look in the sky. Not the sunny, warm weather the forecasters predicted.

The shore wasn’t far, so I stayed on course and waited. I wished I had something to drink. The air was humid, and my lips quenched water.

In the tiny row boat, I felt lonely, especially since no one else was on the lake and my only companions were the birds chirping in the trees.

A bolt of lightning filled the sky, followed by claps of thunder.

Then the downpour.

No fish today.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Watching Grass Grow

Willow loved the flowers.

Yellow lilies sprouted from breaks in old, torn tree bark. Hydrangeas shot up from the ground so beautifully. Willow waited with anticipation and baited breath as grass grew. She watched every moment of it. As tiny white tips sprouted from the dirt, oh joy of joys, the beginning was so exciting! Then, the tiny blades raised up to the sun, and Willow screamed with excitement. She couldn't contain her joy. She watched impatiently as the leaves turned from green, to yellow, to orange, then brown. The moss grew over Willow's feet. Oh, to be a tree.From Guest Contributor Eliana Diaz

Eliana is an English literature and visual art major at UCCS. She is a feature artist in the 50th edition of Riverrun. She is a large fan of mythology, fantasy, and other make-believe.

The Coming Thermonuclear War

Considering the current tensions, I implore you to prioritize diplomacy, de-escalation, and dialogue. By honoring these treaties and respecting international agreements, we can work towards sustainable peace.

That Europe is pushing for war with Russia. That in 2017 Russia informed NATO it will use thermonuclear war if invaded or if Ukraine is invaded by NATO means an ending of humanity. That deagel.com posted in 2017 that according to Government records the US should expect to lose 224 million people by 2024-2025 means an ending of reality.

I ask you to pray for peace.

For death via thermonuclear war is horrifying.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Accompaniment

Almost every morningit’s the same old ambient toss-up:Susumu Yokota or Lazybatusu.

Some days, neither flips his switch;some days: nothing but nothing. Silence.(He neither needs nor wants either one.)

Some days—especially days he’s up early—he just sits and types, humming his own theme:he calls it Lazysusubatsumu Yakotoma.

He hums and writes and writes againuntil everything comes out right,or his fingers start to bleed.

Even then, though,intent on his missionhe encourages the hemorrhage.

He’s stumbled onto something good;he’s just got to keep at ituntil it sings on its own.From Guest Contributor Ron. Lavalette

Ron.’s debut chapbook, Fallen Away (Finishing Line Press) is now available at all standard outlets. Many of his published works can be found at EGGS OVER TOKYO.

The Postcard's Promise

As Harland dug through the ruins, he found a hidden and weathered desk. On it, an old postcard displayed a faded, scenic landscape. Flipping it over, he read delicate handwritten words:

"Dear Wanderer,

May this postcard be your journey's memento, reminding you of wonders witnessed and truths sought. Let it inspire your quest for knowledge and enlightenment. With each step, the world and you transform. Embrace the magic within, letting it guide your path. Uncover the mysteries. Remember, great adventures start unexpectedly.

Safe travels,

A fellow explorer."

Harland cherished the postcard as a symbol of inspiration and continued his exploration.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Resistance

The bomb exploded and debris collapsed all around. Covered in dust and choking from dryness, I ran to the alley. A sharp pain in my leg, I realized I had a large gash. I tore the sleeve of my shirt and wrapped my leg to stop the bleeding. With the gestapo in the area and people screaming, I stayed put.

After hours of cramped space and agonizing discomfort, I got up from the ground and limped to the safe house where my team awaited.

The resistance would be pleased with my finding and hopefully the allies would be here soon.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Standish

Tyler unfolded from the blue compact. His knees hurt. He had suffered this torture for one reason: to keep Standish quiet...forever.

Ten years as a bartender at the Capital Club, the city’s most prominent private club, provided Standish with enough knowledge to end important careers, marriages, and lives. That knowledge became an opportunity. It needed to be stopped.

Tyler walked in, silenced gun in his coat pocket. Standish was behind the bar. A shot rang out. Tyler crumpled to the floor.

“Thanks, Joe,” Standish said, smiling. A man at the end of the bar nodded, finishing his bourbon.

“Anytime.”

From Guest Contributor Gary M. Zeiss

On The Money Trail

Family members need help. I oblige. I’m their doer of tasks.

Why me? I’m between jobs, behind with payments and I haven’t shopped for new clothes in ages. I guess they trust me to deliver. I’m okay with that.

No time to linger. Housebound auntie wants her groceries.

As I hasten, sunshine glues sweaty polyester to my back. I spot sparkles on the sunlit lawn along my walkway.

Coins! Many coins, strewn in a line towards the space where a car had once parked.

I gather, add up their value, sigh.

Someone’s emptied change-purse or pocket. My bit of fortune. From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

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

A Boy I Knew

A boy I knew killed a man. Lost his mind. Shaved his head. His face on the news was an open-mouthed scream, soundless. His eyes so round, searching. I whispered to the screen: please blink. I said it like ice in his mouth, like the way he’d look up at stars puncturing the still night sky, the cold air, too many angles of his body pushing out, knees and elbows and chin. I said it without hope. When this boy was mine, he danced and wide-smiled and kissed and laughed. His voice rang out, ethereal, hit the earth like rain.

From Guest Contributor Beth Mead

Vines

Amidst the barrenness of their surroundings, they found refuge in each other's arms. Though the winds howled and rained down upon them, they held on tight, refusing to let go. Together, they weathered the storm, their love growing stronger with each passing moment. And as the skies cleared and the sun shone, they knew they had found something special—a love that could withstand anything. Their hearts began to beat as one, like two vines interwoven, awaking a long-forgotten garden. It was as if fate had brought them together—two lost souls searching for a way out of the darkness.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster