Crazy Beat

The music thrummed and the people spasmed to the beat. They called it dancing. Martinez, observing from the shadows, thought it looked more like a crazed ritual or a medical disorder.

"Should we put a stop to it?"

Her partner shrugged his shoulders.

"Hard to believe this used to be popular."

"The dancing or the music?"

Martinez thought for a moment. "Both. Thank God it's been banned."

Her bosses at the enforcement authority feared the dancing would spread beyond the nursing home, but Martinez was certain no sane individual in the year 2045 would find pleasure in such deviant behavior.

Do Electric Cars Dream Of Beach Holidays?

Is everything packed?

Yeah, pretty sure it is.

Want me to double-check?

I already checked every room twice, but if you want to be completely sure…

No, I trust you.

Shall we load then?

Is the battery charged?

I don’t know.

So you didn’t charge it?

Honey, if you don’t tell me to, I don’t.

You drove the car last, you should have known.

I hadn’t given it any thought. Sorry.

Do we have enough to get home?

No, I’m afraid not.

And what now?

We could stay an extra night, of course.

Shall we do that then?

Good idea.

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.

Day At The Park

The fresh scent of flowers fills the air with sweetness. Diana takes a deep breath and relishes the moment, strolling through the park listening to the children play and the birds sing, the warm breeze against her face. She finds a bench, sits, puts her reading glasses on, and takes out her book. She takes a sip of water and begins reading, enthralled in the story, content with the sun on her face, when the cell phone rings.

Diana closes the novel, rushes to the car, and drives to the hospital to say goodbye to her father, her only family.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Burt And Argos

The news sent everyone into a panic. Years of cable sensationalism had afflicted society with a horrible sense that by paying attention to world events, they could actually make an impact. With that illusion shattered, the reality would take time to settle over them. Time that was no longer available.

Burt had stopped watching the news years ago. He'd accepted his futility and was the happier for it. Better to spend that time with Argos, his rescue.

So while most people rioted, Burt and Argos sat on the beach watching the sunset together, waiting for the end of the world.

Magic Of Hell

Closed time curved loop reality travel is what Mandela-effected people are experiencing.

Say WHAT? Imagine if you will a group of people with the ability to steal ideas, people, souls, and move them from one reality to the next.

Then realize the multiverse is nothing more than mirror realities played over and over again like a film with many endings.

Those moving through time are seeing the world as a past life. Where words like Dilemna are now spelt like Dilemma. While mirror mirror on the wall is talking about a Kozyrev magic mirror that transported souls from one realm.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

On A Bus

78-year-old Frieda tried to maintain balance while holding her bags. No one offered to exchange places, never mind looked up from a cell phone.

"People used to give an old person a seat," said Frieda out loud.

A seat? The young driver had seen nothing like that in his experience. "Sit here for a minute," he offered.

* * * * *

A few blocks after Frieda had driven erratically, a policeman signaled the bus over.

"Enough," he demanded, tired of her playing on the sympathy of young drivers to gratify her bus-driving-desires. Enough with the previous warnings. He never trusted little old ladies anyway.

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Sunflowers On The Horizon

The rows of sunflowers spread across the horizon, tiny flames of color against a burnt-out sky. Megan ducks away from the window, hoping she wasn't spotted.

"They're coming closer."

Charles scrambles on hands and knees from room to room, locking each door without standing up, praying the bolts will be enough to keep them safe.

"I'm scared."

Megan ignores his cowardice, once again apologizing to her inner voice for ignoring its many warnings that an RPG podcaster would not make a good husband.

"Just shut up and go get the pesticide from the garage. I have some sunflowers to murder."

Your Cold Heart

The damn dog wouldn't stop digging.

Bitches can't be with you if you don't scream.

I paid the bills. The rent, the cellphone, the electric.

Why weren't you on my side?

"Come with me!" I yelled.

You said, "You mean it?"

The dog stared at me, wanting an answer too.

I picked up a rock.

I usually miss, but it struck you right between the eyes.

I kept digging in the almost frozen ground.

I'm so sorry!

I guess the dog missed you as much as I did 'cause---

The dog kept digging.

I hit her right between the eyes.

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.

Lost

Which way do I go? Delirious, I have no idea. Lost, walking in the desert, hot, tired, and thirsty, my lips dry and cracked, I crumble to the ground from exhaustion.

I don’t remember how I wound up in this hell, but I know I will die here. I stare at the empty sky; the sun torching my body and pray for a quick death.

“Doctor, he’s opening his eyes.”

“Jared, can you hear me?”

Everything is blurry for a moment and then focuses. Standing before me is a doctor and nurse, the nurse gently holding my hand.

I’m home.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Hot Mess

She waddled when she walked. Her left arm hung like a donkey dick. She loved to sit in the tub with lots of bubbles and read those silly magazines from the grocery checkout. Those were all she could mentally comprehend. She probably only looked at the pictures.

She was told not to take baths. She couldn't lift herself out. No longer had the strength. But damned if she didn't give it a try or two or fifteen. She'd be embarrassed with every rescue. It didn't stop her from filling the tub and getting in.

The paramedics knew her by name.

From Guest Contributor Laura Shell

Laura quit her day job to become a full-time writer. She will be published in Calliope, eMerge, WINK, and Literally Stories, and will have an anthology of horror stories published in February. When she isn't writing or reading short fiction, she watches horror movies with her dog, Groot.