Not One Of Us

They watched Mark with great interest. Everything about him screamed that he was different, from the way he was dressed (tattered blue jeans and a Winter is Coming t-shirt) to the way he shunned their company.

As he walked briskly past, heads turned seemingly as one. Before long, Mark had a large retinue, each individual dressed in a dark blue suit, following after him. He hurried on without directly acknowledging their attention.

"He's not one of us."

Mark stopped. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

"We just want what's best for you, Mark. Join us and never be alone again."

To Not Be Alone

To not be alone is to be in a constant state of questioning. You question who you are. You question who they are. You question why you are with them. They question why they are with you. You question how to be with them, as they question how to be with you. But we all know that it isn't just you and them. There are things that haunt you. There are things that haunt them. So is it now that you are not alone, or were you always questioning? Were they always questioning? Truth is, now you are questioning together.

From Guest Contributor Ina Rose

Ina is a student with a passion for writing.

Small Mercies

Her father had come out a year before he died. Her parents had been divorced more than a decade by then and the news probably shouldn't have comes as such a shock. At the eulogy, she lamented not handling his announcement with more compassion. She would never be able to understand what it had been like for him, growing up in small town Indiana.

She left the election viewing party early. She needed to cry alone. It was the first time she was glad Dad had died. He was spared having to see the wheels of progress start rolling backwards.

Bountiful Harvest

“Beautiful garden,” a man interjected. “Looks like a good harvest.”

Judy paused from pulling out weeds. “Not really. July was too rainy. Zucchinis are rotting on the plants and maggots have infested my apple tree. It’ll be a chore to salvage what’s edible.”

“Do you need help? I have lots of time being on my own.”

“Sorry, it’s getting dark,” Judy answered.

The man turned around and started walking.

“Wait!” Judy called out. “Pot roast is almost ready. Would you like to join me for supper? I too live alone.”

Harvest became bountiful with the start of a new friendship.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.

The Button

Blake sat alone in the cell. He only had the bar of soap his guards had given him, and a button he'd smuggled under his tongue.

Alone. Alone. It had been 17 days now. He knew it was 17 days, because each morning, he made a mark in the soap with his button. There were 17 marks for 17 days.

For those 17 days, his only contact with the outside world was the metal plate they slid through the door at mealtime.

17 days to contemplate his crime, his smuggled button the only thing keeping his sanity from slipping away.

Illusions

Barbara fiddled with the hem of her shirt. Untucked, disheveled, fraying at the edges, the shirt reflected Barbara's state of mind.

"You need to make a decision, dear."

Barbara stared at her mother, so neat and handsome. In some ways, the woman was a complete stranger. Inheriting someone's genetic code, what did that really matter? Proximity and shared experience did not imply intimacy. Barbara felt so alone.

"We'll just let you stay here a while longer. I'm glad that's settled."

Barbara smiled as her mother departed. She knew she'd never be allowed any freedom, not while her mother yet lives.

Mechanical Soldiers

She built fabricated soldiers made of tin and rubber and whatever at hand materials she found at her disposal. They tinkered about her kitchen and living room and she kept building them one after another until she had her own army.

The mechanical men proved willing to follow her commands, but being willing is not the same thing as possessing a will or consciousness. She’d order them to kill her ex-boyfriend and they would bump into the dresser or break into stilted karaoke.

She would never be alone again, but being alone is not the same thing as being lonely.