Manuscript

The rain pelted the window as I typed the last few pages of my manuscript. It was past midnight, and I had been working for hours with a cold cup of coffee on my desk. My agent advised that it would be in my best interest to have it ready by tomorrow morning, my first novel.

Thunder filled the sky, and my dog Bree ran under bed, my concentration never faltering.

As I typed “The End,” a flash of lightning lit the sky, and the electricity went out.

I didn’t have a chance to hit save before the power outage.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Speculative King

Edmund Mortimer, crowned King Edmund III, is considered amongst certain scholars of the apocrypha to be the greatest monarch of England. His rule not only saw Great Britain and Ireland peacefully united, but also the annexation of Normandy and Brittany, who voluntarily joined the commonwealth out of regard for his magnanimity. His reign lasted 70 years, starting at age 9, and even as a boy he was renowned for his kind heart and wise decisions. His abdication ushered in the golden age of English democracy, which endured until wicked King Henry restored the monarchy in 1485.

Thus fate always wins.

Skipping Stones

I once skipped a stone 17 times across Lake Wawasee. It was one of those still days when the water is pure glass and you can see the clouds clearly reflected on the surface. We competed in hunting for the smoothest rocks all morning. I found one that was round and flat and just the right weight so I saved it until last. No one else got more than 11 and I was proclaimed the rock-skipping champion of Indiana.

I've never skipped a stone since. I'm satisfied knowing I once achieved a moment of perfection that can never be matched.

A Brief Interaction

An old woman and a boy. Both walking on opposite sides of the same busy street; her with a bag full of groceries. She enters a crosswalk, stumbles over a crack, falls, her groceries scattering. The boy gasps watching vehicles swerve around her, none stopping. He scurries between them to her side, helps her to her feet, collects her groceries back into her bag, leads her carefully across to the sidewalk on the other side. Their eyes meet and hold. The old woman pats her heaving chest and points to him. The boy smiles, nods, then continues on his way.

From Guest Contributor William Cass

William has had over 395 short stories accepted for publication in a variety of literary magazines and anthologies such as december, Briar Cliff Review, and Zone 3. Winner of writing contests at Terrain.org and The Examined Life Journal, he's also been nominated once for Best of the Net, twice for Best Small Fictions, and six times for the Pushcart Prize. His three short story collections have all been published by Wising Up Press.

Far, Far Away

Justin put the finishing touches on his email and hit send. He found giving his messages a human touch helped them stand out in the never-ending garbage dump of communication his supervisor constantly found herself filtering through. Hopefully it would be the advantage he needed come promotion time.

When he'd taken this remote position, he knew the hours would be bad and the pay low, but he didn't expect to be stuck at an entry-level position forever. Surely his enthusiasm would stand out.

Now he just needed to await a response. Transmission to corporate headquarters would take 53 light years.

Christmas Wish

All six-year-old Charlie wanted for Christmas was a baby brother or sister. When he sat on Santa’s plump lap, he asked him for that wish. His response to the young boy was: “That’s out of my control little one.” Charlie sighed, slumped off his lap and walked in silence back to the car with his mom.

On Christmas morning, Charlie went to the Christmas tree and saw one large red gift box that moved and made whining noises. He lifted the cover and inside was a Shih-Tzu puppy that jumped into his arms.

The wish for a sibling faded away.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Amazing

Jim and Eileen stared up at the night sky and held each other tightly. The exploding lights mixed every imaginable color, one after the other, until their senses were overloaded. They each tried to make sense of the display, to find the right words to express the sheer awe, to create an explanation that could make sense of it all. Failing that, they simply watched in silence, happy they were experiencing it together, thankful that the ineffable still existed and they were both alive to witness something truly miraculous.

Who knew the end of the world would be so beautiful?

A Day at the Lake

Cartoon fishing is bloodless but the one who landed on the bodies of trees that was a good excuse for a sweating can of beer in the red hand of Uncle John was a body, eyes peeled and gasping, flapping, slapping, impaled with rusting violence and the lie about the free lunch of the worm and I also stopped chewing, not because of my seven-year-old wiggly tooth but because of the hook in the ham sandwich my mother'd given me, the hook in the wooden deck of the boat, the hook that cartoon fishing is bloodless

and then she died

From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat

The Blackest Black

Everything is black, but blacker than your black, with pinpricks of light sparkling in your blindness.

A total black, outside your eyelids or maybe behind the mirror. And it’s always there, somewhere, waiting to crash over you like a waterfall.

You're walking the yellow curbside line, balancing on the edge of night, one slip and you fall onto the black pavement, and luckily it's just a mind's game and you start again. Happy just to be playing.

You've played so long you're no longer scared. But it doesn’t matter because when you get there you won’t be there waiting.

Still Mad

I woke up in the middle of the night feeling hungry and went down to the kitchen. I had leftover pizza in the fridge that would really hit the spot.

Bob was sitting at the table, as if he were expecting me. I ignored him as I took out the plate and put it in the microwave. I wasn't happy about how our last conversation had ended so I was annoyed to see him here, like nothing had happened.

He finally spoke. "Are you still mad?"

I chose not to respond. I have a longstanding rule against speaking to ghosts.