Tank Man

No one knows where he came from. He simply appeared on the streets from nowhere.

He stood defiantly, one man against a nation, a beacon of hope, a harbinger of doom.

He became a symbol around the world. To many, he was an emblem of brave resistance. To some, he was a token of what one person can accomplish against all odds.

Nothing is known about who he is or what made him believe one man was able to stop an army.

No one knows what happened to him afterwards. But the truth is everyone knows what happened to him.

The Day Before Yesterday

Meanwhile, Franz Kafka sells another piece of his dead mother’s jewelry to pay for his brothel visits. Pablo Picasso and Henri Matisse go horseback riding together. Alma Mahler has just aborted their child. The police question Picasso, but he has an alibi and they release him after slapping him around. Summer is fading, and Rainer Maria Rilke feels it as a wound in his chest. Using an alias, Adolf Hitler boards a train for Munich to escape conscription in the Austro-Hungarian army. Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa is missing from the Louvre. Museumgoers lay flowers in front of the bare wall.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's latest poetry collection, THE HORSES WERE BEAUTIFUL, is forthcoming from Grey Book Press.

Oliver's Army

Oliver was the first to notice.

He was enjoying a day off, determined to spend it in his garden, partly to work in it, partly to relax in a folding chair.

Leaning on a rake he called out to his wife:

“Would you look at that? I have never seen this many together on a single bush.”

She was just as surprised as he was.

"Remember? Last spring we didn’t mow the lawn for a month. Could this have something to do with it?”

Thousands, even millions of butterflies gave a clear forewarning: the new rulers were on the rise. From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé Suys (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

Spending Time Alone

I live another life between raised garden rows, meditating on what worries me the most—feeling anxious about the seedlings that I’ve upended from their plug trays, pushing them head first into the palm of my hand, where I take a moment to study their good health, before I shove them into dirt that’s expansive as it is uncertain—a space where I imagine safety is being somewhere: tomatoes belong here—eggplants over there—and, in-between—bright, ruffled marigolds, guarding the future from an army of beetles, no bigger than poppy seeds, that seemingly ingest everything when no one’s looking.

From Guest Contributor M.J.Iuppa

M.J.’s fourth poetry collection is This Thirst (Kelsay Books, 2017). For the past 33 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.

Strange Sightings

HISTORICAL FICTION SUBMISSION:

Bill watched as fire tore the sky. Just as suddenly, the flame disappeared and a streak of dark smoke hit the ground. Whatever noise sounded at the impact was too distant for Bill to hear.

He hopped on his tractor and headed to the next field. He'd heard of airplanes in Albuquerque, but never actually seen one.

What Bill found at the crash site sent him running. As he drove to Roswell to inform the authorities, he was passed by a line of army trucks headed to his farm. By the time he returned home, the strange vehicle was gone.

From Guest Contributor Chris Thompson

The Universe's Greatest Hero

As the handsome Captain Cahill hurtles through the cosmos at 186,000 miles per second, his mind wanders back to his finest victory. At the Battle of Vynsenulon VI, when he lured the Gigarachnids into a narrow crevasse and lit the charges above them, burying their army under five tons of granite. His actions that day earned him three medals, one for heroism, one for bravery, and one for valor. Captain Ronald Cahill, the universe's greatest hero.

“I’m leaving you, Ronny.” He barely hears from virtual reality, “Call me if you ever grow the fuck up!” His wife slams the door.

From Guest Contributor Rob Howard

God Bless America

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

He was met by his family at the Orlando airport after 12 long months of active duty.

Captain Steven Hooks was a free man. Now that the Army didn't need him anymore, he could get back to being a husband and a father and re-open his dental practice.

Gloria, his wife, suggested a movie for his first night home. They gave the kids baths, dressed them in cozy pajamas, and loaded them into the station wagon.

Upon arriving at the booth he handed the cashier the money but she wouldn't take it.

"Sorry, but this drive-in is for whites only."

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes

E. has works published at Entropy, Spillwords, The Purple Pen, The Haven, and several works are in the anthology, "NanoNightmares."

Voices Of A New Generation

Dealing with young people at work, Carson experienced flashbacks to his own sometimes turbulent adolescence. He recalled vividly his occasional intense suffering, not from outside influences, but from his own changing body. In particular, an unanticipated growth spurt when he shot up several inches in height in a short period of time. He even got stretch marks around his knees. Growing pains are real.

As he monitored hundreds of gestation tanks occupied by genetically-modified beings constantly infused with growth hormones, Carson was assailed by endless waves of primal screams.

Who’d have thought growing a clone army would be so noisy?From Guest Contributor John H. Dromey

John’s short fiction has appeared in Mystery Weekly Magazine, Stupefying Stories Showcase, Thriller Magazine, Unfit Magazine, and elsewhere.

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.

General Rogers And His Army Of Mindless Zombies

They were a captive audience. Any more captive, and they would have been there against their will.

His charisma clutched at them with a force equal to blunt head trauma. It muddied their minds and stirred up their emotions to a fury. They would follow him into battle. They would commit genocide for him. They would denounce their parents to the secret police, and smile as they recalled the betrayal.

They were his to command, and command them he did.

"Let's make the most of this beautiful day. Come with me as we travel to the land of Make Believe."