Idiot

I'm not scared of ghosts,” Sue says.

“Me too,” I reply with a smile.

“But I’d like to become one,” she continues.

“Why?” I am amused.

“Because ghosts can travel anywhere, overhear people and uncover their secrets, know the past and the future.”

“Hmmm…I’m not sure about that." I laugh.

“How do you know? Isn’t that what planchette, ouija boards and seances are for? People call spirits, ghosts to question them.”

“Well….” I stop with a smile. Sue has always been an idiot. Her ghost is also an idiot. She still hasn't been able to figure out I killed her.

From Guest Contributor Sushma R Doshi

A Pushcart nominee, Sushma holds a PhD in International Studies from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. She likes to write and dream. She resides in India.

Jog

I jog along the pathway with my Shih-Tzu Bentley, but the sunshine and heat cause me to stop and rest. Bently jumps on the bench panting. I pour water in the large plastic bowl I brought for him and drink the rest out of the bottle. I probably shouldn’t be jogging in this heat, but my compulsive tendencies tell me otherwise. After a ten-minute rest, I start again along the path.

Sweat drips down my forehead and the temperature feels intense. Suddenly, I get a shooting pain in the chest, and collapse to the ground, Bentley barking.

Everything goes black.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Sweet World

"I agree. I do find the world very sweet. I know there's a lot of ugliness in the world, and not everyone is as fortunate as we are, but there's always a bright side, even at the darkest moments. Like puppies. If there's one thing that we can all agree on it's that puppies are the sweetest thing under the sun. Nothing can be so bad that a litter full of puppies won't bring a smile to your face. Know what I mean?"

After a long awkward pause...

"I was talking about 'Sweet World.' The candy shop. I'm craving sugar."

Headless

Mr. Morgan was incapable of making wise decisions.

He constantly confused compost and garbage pickup weeks. Waste-collection trucks drove past his house without stopping.

Mr. Gerald down the street didn’t receive his disability payments. A mail-delivery person was reprimanded for not noticing one differing number between the addresses of Mr. Gerald and Mr. Morgan.

The latter meant to take them over to his neighbor but didn’t after a rumour circulated: he was seen stumbling outdoors in the dark appearing to have no head.

Truth be, he wore a coat over his head for warmth because he often forgot his hat.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Medley

Jason worried his life lacked a central essence that defined his identity, and it was preventing him from being his true authentic self.

Jason's therapist suggested he might consider that life is more of a medley than a single guitar solo.

Jason lay on the couch and considered the possibility Mr. Johnson might be right. Perhaps he was trying too hard to be the lead at everything, and it was okay to enjoy being part of the ensemble.

Then Jason glanced the photograph of Mr. Johnson's cover band on the wall behind him and decided he needed a new therapist.

The Dean Of The Old School

Dad segues into another riveting anecdote with, “That’s not how we did things back in the day.”All three teenagers glaze over in unison. Closed. They nod if eye-checked for confirmation, but almost immediately they’re not listening. Their father is a bundle of clichés glued together with corn.

Had the kids been striving to understand, they could now know more about activities from back in the day than they know of current events. It seems Dad rides that tangent whenever possible.

Before the present era, everything was more superlative. Right kids? Whereas now it’s flat and probably made from plastics.

From Guest Contributor Todd Mercer

Todd writes fiction and poetry in Grand Rapids, Michigan. His collection Ingenue was published by Celery City Press. Recent work appears in Literary Yard, The Lake and the Michigan Bards Poetry Anthology.

Above Average Wear And Tear

Pete grabbed his lucky t-shirt from the back of the closet and threw it on.

"I'm ready."

"You are not wearing that."

"What? It's a classic."

"It's barely holding itself together. It must be 20 years old."

Pete was proud of his vintage Pearl Jam concert tee. Sure it may have seen better days, but the real ones would know. "25 actually. I got it when they played Bridge School in '99."

"You promised me you'd dress up tonight." Rebecca sighed, realizing it was a lost cause.

"Why are guys always more attached to their old clothes than their wives?"

Furry Friends

The park is filled with pets. It’s a hot summer day and I can feel the perspiration on my back. I come here every week to watch the dogs run and play, catching frisbees. It’s comical when one small dog grabs the frisbee and runs away under the tree when the owner is waiting.

You can see in the kids’ and parents’ faces, how their dogs make the family complete with their huge smiles, laughter and affection toward their hairy friends.

I didn’t realize the time. I must leave for an important appointment.

A new furry companion awaits my arrival.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Unlucky Day

Being a leprechaun is a delight 99.75 percent of the time. All rainbows and clover and pots of gold. But for a single day in March, everyone wants their three wishes and suddenly life gets a lot more complicated.

Sean O'Patrick O'Reilly knew enough to scout his hiding place early. You never wanted to be caught because you're scrambling for an empty cave or secluded tree hollow and without warning someone has you by the ankle demanding a million dollars or world peace.

But who could have foreseen an old, fat man's metal detector stumbling upon Sean's golden hat buckle?

Unfinished Business

I returned from the dead, a list in my pocket: wrongs to right, pleasures to reclaim, truths to confess, sins to own. Mostly I needed to know how the world had fared without me. Apart from my poor mother, a grieving ghost of her former self, it was as if I’d never lived. Never loved. Never mattered. A stranger slept in my bed, alongside my darling wife, in my home, the one I’d slaved to pay for, my manicured garden now wildly overgrown. I fed the list to the fire. I’d start over from the very beginning, wherever that was.

From Guest Contributor Elizabeth Murphy