Platero And I: Old Skool Bloodbrothers

No doubt you have been wondering, dear Platero, why Stefano keeps spitting on the ground each time we pass his house and I greet him with a slight nod.

We grew up in the same neighborhood and became good friends. Later we went to college in the same city, where we got drunk together and whispered similar sweet words in girls ears. We were convinced the world was at our feet and nothing would ever change that.

But then...the civil war broke out and blood brothers became sworn enemies.

Time heals many wounds, Platero, but clearly not all.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.

The Lord Loves Me

The Lord loves me even though I don't love myself.

Not every day goes great. But when I pray, I pray for joy and happiness.

The wife comes and yells, "your lazy butt still sitting in that darn chair?"

"Just talkin' to the Lord for a moment."

A bolt of lightning makes us both jump and her fall to her knees.

"No, David," she yells, "not a storm. We need the tomatoes to bloom, you old fool."

The second bolt of lightning enters the house and her skull.

I smile, realizing even the weather listens when I talk to God.From Guest Contributor E. Barnes

E. Barnes has works published in The Purple Pen, The Haven, Spillwords, Centina Pentina, A Story In 100 Words and the anthology NanoNightmares.

Horrors Of War

Innocent civilians taken hostage. Families plead for their loved ones' safe return, helpless and fearing the worst outcome. All they can do is weep and wait.

Pictures of children shown on the news, unaware of the outside world, scared, frightened, and huddled together unable to sleep, wanting their parents to save them and not knowing why they’re separated.

Countries gather to create foundations to help those in need. How long will it last?

Shootings and chaos surround streets, and gunfire echoes in the air. People bellow and search for safety, unable to find it.

These are the horrors of war.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Tannery

He received a large order to carpet an entire wall: that meant working late at the light tannery, in the other room. He looked at the skyscrapers at the far end of the room where he was now, but it could be done. He had to get to the other room, where the flowers grew: once the stem was cut, the stone inside reacted chemically with the local oxygen, then melted into spots of light whose original texture was much like a tongue’s. He sighed, thinking about his life. What he really enjoyed was preparing chlorophyll manually, on the piano.

From Guest Contributor Angelo Colella

Relativists

A twin, jealous of her sister’s looks, sends her into outer space.

-The joke’s on you, says their mother. She will return younger than you. And, she’ll look even better.

Doesn’t she know time is an illusion? Then again, she believes the sun rises and sets.

-She knows an illusion when she sees it, says the mother. She’s always been the smart one.

The mother glances down at her watch. It runs more slowly when in motion, treating time like taffy: the greater the pull, the more it stretches.

-Gravity, she seethes.

You always liked her better, says the twin.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell

Cheryl's recent fiction has appeared in Switch, Does It Have Pockets? Gone Lawn, Necessary Fiction, Pure Slush, and elsewhere.

At The Bar

Drunk Joe asked the man next to him at the bar “Do you believe in flying saucers? I think they are a crock.”

“No it’s absurd. They have it all wrong. Our ships are triangular.”

”Huh?”

“Aliens aren’t little green men. We come in many colors. You get light and dark ones here.”

“Where do you get these ideas?”

“I’m a triangle pilot. They are half as wide as they are long. Don’t believe me? We look mostly like humans, but” it pulls up its pants and takes off its shoes “see – four legs.”

Joe goes home and quits drinking.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

What In Hell Is A Soul?

The super highway of data flowing back to the Dyson Sphere brought several questions to mind. Are all the math numbers being crunched supposedly from bitcoin to dogecoin just souls caught in the Mandela effect? Seemed illogical. And yet?

The more one reviews the simulator of life. The more questions one has to think about. Does thinking make anything right? No.And often times thoughts bring about new ideas. The question is any of this real?

Then the realization even if this was not real. Here I am today. And here you are too? Which begs the question in hell.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Person To Notify

"Have I reached Frieda Grompkin?"

"Yes." Frieda did not recognize the voice nor number on her phone.

"I'm calling from the hospital. It's about Ed."

"Ed?" She hadn't seen her ex-husband in 6 years. "What?"

"You're listed as the person to notify. He needs emergency surgery after the accident."

There was some mistake in the record. Why was she listed?

"Tell him he's overdue on his last three alimony payments." It was best not to say, "Tell that bum…"

"He may not make it."

No more payments? But, no more Ed?

"Oh. In that case, thank you for the call."

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Regular Occurrence

The sky is clear, but not for long as bomber planes are approaching. As the blaring alarm sounds, Esme heads to the basement with the other tenants. Sadly, no one looks frightened as it’s a regular occurrence.

Bundled, but still cold, Esme and the other people sing to pass the time while others close their eyes or read.

Hours pass and finally they get the okay to go home.

Her apartment is unharmed, but a few blocks away buildings have been destroyed.

She closes her eyes and prays she makes it out of the war to see her family again.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

A Frank Conversation Following An Epistolary Courtship

How will you tell people we met? she asks.

I’ll say I’m a quantum anthropologist from a parallel reality who built a machine to peer beyond dimensional walls. That I spent years studying myriad earths twitching across infinite frequencies until, one day, I saw you through my viewfinder. Yes, I knew crossing the trans-dimensional bridge would buckle my reality’s foundations. I didn’t care. I’ll warn everyone, my love for you doomed a universe.

And you? he asks.

She shifts. Her shackles jingle. The guard clears his throat. The truth. I took first at the International Sasquatch Rodeo. You were runner-up.

From Guest Contributor Keith J. Powell

Keith is co-founder of Your Impossible Voice. Find more of his writing at www.keithjpowell.com.