Voice Of Despair

CONTEST SUBMISSION:

Kevin didn’t hear at first. Mabel did. Sensing the scratchy sound originated outside, they opened the front door. Before them stood a feline pulsating a ferocious “meow.” Seeing the humans, he stopped.

“He’s staring at us,” Kevin noticed.

The cat turned to go back to the sidewalk.

“Let’s follow,” Mabel figured.

They ended in a backyard. The cat went through a pet flap in the house. When he reappeared, he stood on a table by a bedroom window.

Kevin propped himself up on a patio chair and peered inside. Sprawled on the floor was the lifeless body of their neighbor.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada.

Berries

An unpleasant task of my youth was picking raspberries in our backyard. Raspberries are the least tasty of Oregon’s big three, the others being blackberries and strawberries. Raspberries are also soft, easily squashed and have unpleasant texture. At times I imagined cutting the roots as a way to avoid picking them. Blackberries and marionberries (a kind of blackberry) are pleasures that can be picked while standing up and grow wild, so one need not grow them yourself or pay for u-pick. Oregon strawberries are the best tasting strawberries, but they must be bought or paid for by back breaking u-pick.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Seeing

“Who’s that little girl over there?”

I stop buckling her three-point harness and look over my shoulder.

“I don’t know who you mean, babe,” I say. “There’s no one there.” I go back to buckling.

Her tiny, chubby index finger points straight behind me and into our backyard.

We are in a hurry, running late to the library’s story hour. It’s hot out. I exhale loudly. I turn my head again and then turn my body in a full circle to scan.

“Who do you see?” I ask.

She shrugs. She’s over it, as if this happens all the time.

From Guest Contributor Amy Bracco

Ghost Milk

Before going back to the backyard she checked on her husband and her two-month-old kid who were fast asleep. The bed was undone, the dishes were huddled up in the sink unwashed, the rugs were clumsily rolled up. She knew that the child would wake up in an hour exactly. Those midnight crying fits. Last Sunday the infant was inconsolably crying, craving for milk, while she was in the backyard. She wanted to feed him, but couldn’t. Her breasts were heavy with ghost milk. The newspaper on the table read, “Delhi woman electrocuted by wet electric pole in the backyard.”

From Guest Contributor Anindita Sarkar

Pests

Two men relaxed on a patio overlooking a lush garden, talking conversationally.

“I’m having a lot of trouble with these pests. They’re just everywhere! In my backyard, my pond, and even the kids’ sandbox,” the larger man said, shaking his head.

His companion sipped from a bottle. “Same with us. They destroy everything, but I still feel bad about killing them. They’re probably just trying to survive.” The smaller man paused before pointing to the ground. “Look, there’s one now.”

The larger man stomped on the creature with a look of disgust before wiping his boot.

“Pesky humans,” he grumbled.

From Guest Contributor Caitlyn Palmer

Outside The Box

Annie is missing. “Not in her room,” Mom said. “Can’t find her outdoorshoes,” noted Dad. “Maybe she fell into a humongous puddle,” quippedyounger brother. Older brother was silent. Two guinea pigs madlythreaded wheels. Crows lined the backyard fence squawking at thehouse. “Bet she’s at a friend’s,” said Dad. “Maybe a monster snatchedher,” younger brother grinned. “That’s enough young man,” assertedMom. “We need to think OUTSIDE the box,” Dad stated. “Maybe someoneput her INSIDE a box,” giggled younger brother. “Hush!” yelled Mom.Older brother emerged: “Annie’s in my bedroom closet with an imaginaryfriend.”From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.

Loner

Worst thing about having a drunken Da who pissed people off was that Malachy tended to suffer from ‘trickle-down’ syndrome: friendships nurtured in his own child-like manner evaporating as parents infected would-be playmates with their contempt for his father.

He crouched over the little burn on farmland close to his suburban home watching the tadpoles emerge from frogspawn, eager to claim a hopper for his very own.

There was a sizeable puddle in his backyard courtesy of poor drainage.

The leprous ache inside expanded to form tundra.

Still, it was quiet, and the symphony of wind and wildlife was wonderful.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

Other People's Weather

No one had been expecting snow this far south. The local meteorologists all insisted the snow would stop at least a hundred miles north of here. How wrong they were, Dee thought as he stepped outside and was immediately blanketed in large, chunky snowflakes. They had a bona fide blizzard on their hands. Dee smiled, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed the specter of a yeti ambling across the street and into a neighbor’s backyard. No one, not even the yeti, would ever know how Dee managed to steal other people’s weather and bring it here.

From Guest Contributor, Dan Slaten

Holes

Geoffrey spent almost every waking moment in the backyard measuring holes. He'd dig the holes first, usually with a spoon, which took a great deal of time of course. Then he measured them. He calculated their volume, after taking down their circumference and depth. He analyzed each one carefully for soil erosion and texture. He compared one hole to the next, intent on finding even the most minute differences.

This behavior of Geoffrey's worried his parents. Maybe the boy was autistic. Maybe he was preparing for an alien invasion. Whatever it was, this wasn't the behavior of a normal 2-year-old.