When The Fairy Dust Wore Out

When the great clock hands of Big Ben stretched upwards to midnight, Peter Pan sagged and leaned against them, resting his aching back. After years of flying, he had grown not old but weary. London was all skyscrapers now, smoke-plumes that he had to twist to avoid. Still, beneath the honks and hustle of the streets below, Peter imagined he could hear the calls of Tiger Lily, Tinkerbell. As he watched the dull skies, he pictured Neverland, the green of it, the harbours. Then through the smog he saw hands outstretched, a Lost Boy perhaps. Relief coursed, and Peter sighed.

From Guest Contributor Colleen Addison

Colleen lives, and writes on a small island off Vancouver, Canada. Her work has been published in River Teeth, Painted Pebble Lit Mag, and Crow & Crosskeys, among others. She is a recent winner of the 3rd Wednesday flash fiction contest.

Truth

When I awoke in the hospital, I knew the truth. The agonizing pain in my back, the nurses rushing me to the operating room, with the walls spinning around me. The doctor's “everything will be okay, Katie.” But it isn’t.

I’m bleary eyed from the sedative, but I feel a hand in mine, my husband’s. I’m too weary and can’t speak, so I give his hand a squeeze, and he gently squeezes mine back. He speaks of his love for me and how he’ll never leave. Then the doctor comes in and he lets go.

“Will my wife walk again?”

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Biker

She first hit the big time in the musical Binary System. It was a righteous indignation among the bikers. “You’re right about the party- it’s awful,” Fly Wind said single-handedly. We were all looking at her in her akimbo position. Her shirt was on back to front.

“If anything goes wrong, the technicians are here to put it right,” Madam Sixth Sense, the head, spoke slowly and clearly. “Who do you back to win the Superbowl?”

We slowly backed away from the snake.

She raised me as she was wrong. We played billiards a long time before I came in.

From Guest Contributor Jacob Kobina Ayiah Mensah

Jacob is the author of more than 19 poetry book publications, including Witness and a poetry collection in Spanish, agua y color, is forthcoming from Valparaiso Poetry Press. His individual pieces have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, including JMWW, Constellations, Trampoline, 1-70 Review, Beautiful Cadaver Project Pittsburgh, The Meadow, Beyond Words Literary Magazine, Rigorous, etc. He lives in the southern part of Ghana, in Spain, and the Turtle Mountains, North Dakota.

Dead Flowers

I was still in my twenties. A woman at the bar grabbed my arm and asked for my help. But I also would have rather done the tying than be the one tied up. Faraway in time, my doctor was phoning me with the results of the biopsy. I had what he called “an oddball cancer.” Of course, I did. What other kind would a poet have? The woman, her back now to me, was singing along with the jukebox about all the lonely people, a small, crumpled sound like foul dead flower water at the bottom of a vase.From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's newest poetry collection, Heart-Shaped Hole, is available from Laughing Ronin Press. He co-edits the online journal UnLost, dedicated to found poetry.

On The Money Trail

Family members need help. I oblige. I’m their doer of tasks.

Why me? I’m between jobs, behind with payments and I haven’t shopped for new clothes in ages. I guess they trust me to deliver. I’m okay with that.

No time to linger. Housebound auntie wants her groceries.

As I hasten, sunshine glues sweaty polyester to my back. I spot sparkles on the sunlit lawn along my walkway.

Coins! Many coins, strewn in a line towards the space where a car had once parked.

I gather, add up their value, sigh.

Someone’s emptied change-purse or pocket. My bit of fortune. From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction regardless of the season or location she finds herself in.

Kidney

Because blood had been found in my urine, I was ordered to have my kidneys imaged. After I was adequately undressed, the doctor or technician took a thick wand-like instrument and ran it around my back. I could see what they could see on a small screen. Everything looked fine until a bright orange spot turned up on one of my kidneys. Thoughts of cancer or other possible diseases ran through my head. Would I lose a kidney? The exam was over soon, and I was sent away after being told that the results would be back in ten days.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

East Of Deadwood

Off in the distance, hundreds of lifeless began to shuffle toward town. Vernon turned and saw the cowboy he'd killed staring at him with bloodshot eyes.

"We have to get out of here," Vernon said.

Emmett answered, "I agree. It'll only get worse."

Vernon patted him on the back. He was a good man to have on his side.

They watched them scurry about like insects surrounding the few remaining living. The corpses hadn't crossed a burned-out piece of road.

Vernon added, "West is our ticket out."

Hell-bent for leather on horseback, they left the living and the un-dead behind.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

The Swimmer Bot

Robots Contest Submission:

"Granddad, were robots once different from people?"

"Oh, yes. I remember when they existed just to serve us. Swimmer bots used to deliver parcels to the islands, you know. I'd watch them through binoculars as they carried goods over in waterproof rucksacks. They swam freestyle. Fast. Never stopping. Apart from one time.

About a half-mile from shore, I saw one flip onto its back. It floated for a while and I just assumed it had malfunctioned. But then it started doing slow, languid backstrokes, gazing around, as if appreciating its surroundings.

Yes, it was around that day when everything changed."

From Guest Contributor David Lowis

Deep Dive

She lies nestled upon the seabed, in the depths almost beyond the sun; she calls to me, drawing me in ever closer since I first saw her.

Last time I dived, we almost touched fingertips, but I was forced to come up for air, empty-handed, so to speak.

Every time I’ve gotten near to her since—three times now—I’ve woken up flat on my back upon the pier, with Mitch giving me resuscitation and mouth-to-mouth.

Next time, I’ll reach her; I’ll dive when the lifeguards change their shift on the harbour wall—Mitch won’t stop me again.

She’s waiting for me there.

From Guest Contributor Andrew Anderson

Andrew (he/him) is a writer of fiction from Bathgate, Scotland. His work has previously been published by National Flash Fiction Day Press, Sampson Low Ltd., Selcouth Station Press, The Drabble, Black Hare Press, Eerie River Publishing, Paragraph Planet, Steering 23 Publications, and Blood Song Books.

Three Claw Marks

In a flash, a furry bundle leaps silently onto the bar counter.

Before the sailor can cover his face, sharp claws tear skin from his cheek. The glass of bourbon falls from his hands, and its contents spill over the table.

“Don’t talk behind my back—”

The sailor turns and sees a tabby with a metal peg leg glaring at him in the tavern’s gloom.

“—if you want to live long in space!”

“Aye sir.” The sailor trembles like a child.

“Sayonara, baby.” The tabby lifts his tail and vanishes. Blood drips from three claw marks on the sailor’s cheek.From Guest Contributor Umiyuri KatsuyamaTranslated by Toshiya Kamei

Umiyuri Katsuyama is a Japanese writer of fantasy and horror. In 2011, she won the Japan Fantasy Novel Award with her novel Sazanami no kuni. Her latest novel, Chuushi, ayashii nabe to tabi wo suru, was published in 2018. Her short fiction has appeared in numerous horror anthologies in Japan.