A Dozen

Mort motioned to the waitress who took her time getting to the booth.

“Is this place okay?”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I just saw a fly.”

The waitress, with the name ‘Marge’ stenciled on her food-stained uniform, twisted her face.

“Are you sure?”

“I know a fly when I see one. And Claudette saw another one over there.”

Claudette nodded, pointing to the empty counter where a bulbous-headed insect stumbled erratically.

“Only two?”

“What’d you mean ‘only?’”

“Look, I get your point. A dozen or more flies aren't going to be wrong about a diner. But you saw only two in here…

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Café

Sarah limps from the explosion, barely able to see through the dust and debris. She coughs, covers her mouth with the torn scarf, and follows the sounds of voices.

Her son and husband are most likely buried in the rubble. The last visual she has of them is laughing while they were having lunch at the café, she sipping her tea while listening to their previous day’s outing.

Her leg is throbbing, and her head pounds, but she sees soldiers up ahead.

Panting, she pleads, “My husband and son need help.”

The soldier gives her a pitying look and nods.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Branded

“Do you see the donut,” the cancer specialist asks, sounding suddenly anxious, “or just the hole?” My eyes burn, though tears are 98 percent water. Once cancer touches you, you belong to it, you’re marked with the herd brand. It would take something like a miracle for me to recover. Yesterday, to the shock of tourists, a statue of the Virgin Mary in a fourteenth-century cathedral in Linz appeared to go into labor. Belief is contagious. And so, I lie in bed at night with all the windows open, listening intently to the gregarious insects at ease in the dark.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's latest poetry collection, True Crime, was published by Sacred Parasite in Berlin this year.

Christopher Nolan's The Odyssey

Odysseus is a sad boy. He has been away from his wife and son for a long time. A beautiful goddess forced him to have sex with her for seven years. He really didn't like it. Then he met a beautiful witch and she made him have sex too. Again, he didn't like it.

He sailed past more beautiful women and he wanted to hear their song, because it was supposed to be the most beautiful song in the world, so he tied himself to a mast to avoid having to have sex with more beautiful women.

Poor, sad Odysseus.

Central Casting

Phillips had certainly looked the part. He was linebacker big, with a granite jaw and iron fists. He wasn't too bright either, which O'Malley had always found a useful trait in his bouncers. Punch first and ask questions later.

You'd have thought that would-be troublemakers would take one look and choose to take their riotousness to the next establishment. Instead Phillips had the temperament of a bunny rabbit.

When O'Malley fired him for failing to deter rowdy behavior. he asked Phillips to explain himself.

"What's the point of having a bouncer if you're not willing to knock some heads together?"

Dreams Of Fallen Ashes

He didn't ask.

He just slid on the shoe, and that was that.

Granted, it was all a huge improvement from my previous position – a dizzying improvement. I had to keep reminding myself that everything was real, everything was fine, that I truly was in a fairy tale. And granted, I had asked – no, begged – to go to that dance in the first place. If I hadn't –

If I hadn't, I would still be wearing sturdy leather shoes, sleeping in warm ashes, and dreaming.

Not here, undreaming, with ankles caught in sharp chains of diamond and gold, watching others dance.

From Guest Contributor Mari Ness

The Jewels

The jewels felt heavy on his body, the golden necklace pressing against his throat. The servants applied the rouge to the corners of his eyes before handing him a piece of mulberry paper.

He pressed his lips on the paper, letting it sit for a few seconds before handing it back to the servants.

Staring at the mirror, he felt as if the make-up had done nothing to change his weary face, instead emphasizing it.

The doors opened, and the servants scattered as his brother walked in.

“Father wishes to speak with you.” Those words made him sick.

“I see.”

From Guest Contributor July Segers

A Walk In The Woods

At the foot of a Hawthorn tree, I discover a pine cone sitting in a nest. I wonder how that got in there? A mother bird would surely like to fill this nest with her eggs. A fairy-wren? A thornbill? Besides, I am going to make a wreath for Christmas. Did it just move? Wow. Soft. Heartbeat. The young creature, a precocious master in camouflage and a guaranteed non-candidate for extinction, twitches in the palm of my sweaty hand. I caress its feathers. A teardrop lands on its woody back. I step backwards. Crunch go the leaves. Goodbye little one.

From Guest Contributor Isabelle B.L

Isabelle is an Australian/French author and TEFL teacher.

Drunk On Power

Jason surveyed all that was his. Turning his head left to right, everything belonged solely to him to do with as he pleased. After years of hard-fought battles, defeat after defeat, he had finally claimed this territory as his own, and there was nothing that Janet could do about it.

He believed he would call it Casa de Jason.

"But if you don't keep this area clean, I'm taking it back from you."

His wife could threaten him all she wanted. This corner of the garage was entirely his domain, and he'd hang whatever heavy metal posters he choose. Bwahahaha!

Upon The Blasted Heath

The three witches planned a hell-broth for Macbeth. Their boiling cauldron was ready for the eye of newt, toe of frog, wool of bat, tongue of dog…

“Wait a minute.”

Hecate, the main chef, added extra frown lines to her wrinkled face.

“Look at the flies on the newt’s eye and frog's toe.”

The dog’s tongue, lizard’s leg, and Howlett's wing were also covered.

“The recipe doesn't call for that many flies.”

So Macbeth passed, on his way to Duncan's camp, undisturbed by the Weird Sisters, but swallowing flies. The bulbous-headed insects were murderously thick that night on the heath.

From Guest Contributor David Sydney