Fingertips to Her Shoulders Like Wings in Her Sleep

She is a bird perched on this moment, holding tight to the splintering branch of the past even while the warm chinook of now swirls up from the canyon whispering promises to her flight feathers, visions of vistas that shudder up through the tunnels in her hollow bones. The hurricane of her hair twists in the wind as she stretches, inches closer to dreams of silence deeper than the abyss of midnight sheets. There is no cage that can hold her, no rope that can bind her, no dead story that can stand before her when she decides

to fly.

From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat

Frontier

The steep hills and rugged terrain bordered the frontier. Untamed wildlife lay ahead as I stepped into the wilderness on my hunt for food. I promised my wife we’d make a good home. It’s difficult at times, but we managed.

I heard an ominous sound nearby; crunching branches. I turned and pointed my rifle. Before me stood a grizzly bear at least ten feet tall. He growled and started toward me. I pulled the trigger and he fell into a heap. He let out his last breath and stilled.

He was protecting his home; I couldn’t fault him for that.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

For the prompt Frontier

Intergalactic

Edna and Ed Grumley had no idea they were at the very frontier of intergalactic space exploration that Saturday. Edna was on a double chaise lounge next to Ed in his Hawaiian Gonzo shirt. In the sky above...

Yes, a UFO from the Andromeda Galaxy hovered over Edna, Ed, and their above-ground pool.

“No. 385, this’s too much. Look at those two.”

“Look at that pool, No. 4078A.”

In all of Andromeda, they’d experienced nothing like Edna, Ed, or the dead flies and moths floating in the pool.

“You know, No. 385... You can push a frontier just so far…”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

For the prompt Frontier

Frontier Wedding

The ship glided into the harbor, though to call the pair of ramshackle docks a harbor was about as generous as calling the leaky coastal steamer a ship. As with everything in here, the practical concern was always whether something got the job done, with never a consideration for aesthetic appearances.

This was exactly why Hannah had elected to make the voyage. She may not have been the prettiest to look at, but she got the job done. And despite her family's wealth, the only suitors she'd been presented with had been incompetent blowhards.

She'd rather marry a sled dog.

For the prompt Frontier

Rock Star, Jr.

Dad’s a rock star. You know the type. Wild hair. Leather pants. Naked-lady tattoos. He’s never around for any father-and-son stuff, always away on some sold-out stadium tour.

For my 12th birthday, he gave me one of his old Gibsons. He didn’t have time to show me any chords, so I taught myself. I’ve been practicing every day.

He’s coming home after six months on the road, and I can’t wait for him to hear all the amazing riffs I’ve learned.

Because even if he doesn’t think a son deserves his attention, he’s got to appreciate a fellow musician, right?

From Guest Contributor Lori Cramer

September Is Frontier Month

Here’s a gentle reminder that the (purely optional) prompt for September is Frontier. Stories somehow related to the frontier or the edge of civilization will be bumped to the front of the queue.

Interpret the theme however you like, but please let me know in your email that it’s being submitted as part of the prompt.

Thanks and I loo forward to reading your stories.

That is all.

Cosmic Illumination

“Northern lights?” Jonathan pointed skyward.

“No. Stardust. We’re too far south for Northern Lights,” replied Dad.

They viewed the spectacle in awe.

“I want to be an astronaut when I grow up,” Jonathan stated.

“I know. You say that often enough.”

“What are you making?”

“Cosmic pudding,” answered Dad, pouring water into a foil bag.

His son’s face changed from fascination to frustration.

“What’s tomorrow’s supper?” Jonathan asked.

“Hamburgers.”

“Real hamburgers?”

“Real, but with pita bread. Buns would cause floating crumbs, a major hazard in a spacecraft.”

“Dad, where’s the nearest burger place?”

“Thought you want to be an astronaut.”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

On And On And On

On the fifth anniversary of his father’s heroic death in a far-off jungle, a nine-year-old boy pleads and screams as he’s dragged into a tool shed by his drunken stepfather.

On the twenty-fifth anniversary, the boy, reeking of cheap whisky and cigarettes, staggers into his daughter’s bedroom while the young girl cowers against the wall.

On the fifty-eighth anniversary, that girl collapses into her lightless closet, and as her fury-laced glares and impaling shouts become anguished sobs, her teenage daughter sits alone in the bathroom and once again glides the thin, comforting edge of a razor blade across her thigh.

From Guest Contributor J. Paul Ross

Nothing Unusual

Rayette answered the early morning cellphone call from Ralph.

“Look out your window, Rayette.”

They lived close to one another in Northeast Philadelphia and shared pretty much the same view of the sky and the rest of the Universe.

“Do you see it? I'm pretty sure this time.”

She checked.

“No, Ralph, it's not a UFO.”

“I think I see one.”

She rechecked.

“How many times do I have to tell you there’re no such things as UFOs. You're wrong.”

“Not a flying saucer, huh?”

“No… Can't you see it’s only Superman zipping back-and-forth.”

“Nothing unusual?”

“No.”

“Only Superman?”

“Exactly.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Scarf

A silky white scarf sits on Kate’s hope chest, a gift from her mother resurfacing memories; the laughter of family and friends filling the room, the sound of voices singing happy birthday, and the gifts. The most precious, the scarf. It had been handed down by her grandmother to her mother and now Kate.

On her sick bed, Kate’s mother, with little strength, placed the scarf around her daughter’s neck and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. She wiped away a tear rolling down Kate’s cheek.

As Kate places the scarf around her neck, she feels her touch.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher