Demonstration

I’m going to eliminate demonstration presentations from my Speech course. I was erasing the board after class tonight when a student approached me, asked if I’d approve a ritual for the assignment. “I’ll need to make an altar, bring a knife.”

I turned to face her, “Sorry… no, Moira, that’s not okay.”

She narrowed her eyes, whispered words I barely caught, “within wood…split a stone…find me there.”

I smiled weakly, “Was that a spell?”

She stormed out. I gathered my books and bag and walked quickly to the car. Under my blouse, my jasper cross tingled warm against my skin.

From Guest Contributor Yvonne Morris

Yvonne is the author of Mother was a Sweater Girl (The Heartland Review Press). Her most recent work has appeared in the Santa Clara Review, The Write Launch, and Friday Flash Fiction.

Wilted Lily

Sarah awakened from a frightening dream, her nightgown pasted to her body in sweat. Her husband, Mark, was still asleep, so she gently lifted the covers, went to the bathroom, and splashed cool water on her face. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and remembered every detail.

It was her wedding day. At the altar she couldn’t breathe, her body slowly disappeared, and her bouquet of lilies fell to the ground.

“It was just a bad dream,” she whispered to herself.

She softly kissed her husband and went back to sleep.

Under the bed, rested a wilted lily.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Perception

The night sky was the underside of a felt baldachino; the tower an ornate column; and the church main an altar for some expected giant: bold and bright against the diffuse starlight.

She wasn’t sure about the floodlights now.

“You going in or what?” Frieda tended towards the curt. “I’m happy either way.”

“Um–”

“Night wedding because he looks better in the dark?”

“Mum!”

“That laneway he knocked you up in must have been pitch.”

“MUM!”

“Twice your bloody age.”

The eighteen-year-old eased out of the limo’s back seat, wondering if the weight she felt was really just the baby.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

What Patti Smith Gets Up To

"I saw Patti Smith in concert once. It was quite recently actually. I like to think that after the show she went to a late night beat poet meet where they gave beautiful spoken word renditions through the fug of cigarette smoke whilst drinking sour wine. Or she went to keep candlelight midnight vigil over an altar of Allen Ginsburg, a vigil unbroken by his devotees since his death in the 90’s. More realistically I think Ms. Smith went back to her hotel with her band and caught an early night, she was getting on a bit at the time."

From Guest Contributor George Aitch