Fresh Start

I’m spending New Year’s Eve with my Shih-Tzu Millie, sitting on the couch with a novel, sipping wine and eating crackers. I’ll turn on the television when it gets close to midnight. In the meantime, I’m enjoying the last few nights of the Christmas tree and its decorations. Millie tugs at my sweater since I’ve been ignoring her, so I rub her stomach. I check my watch and turn on the television. The ball begins its descent.

As I sit and wait, I reflect on the many mistakes I made and hope the new year will be a fresh start.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Park

Since the death of my father, I made it a habit to walk in his favorite park every Saturday, something we always did together. Sometimes we had a catch, until one day his hand slipped, and the ball landed in the lake with a splash, and people chortled and pointed. That’s when I knew his Parkinson’s was getting worse. Soon after, he was unable to do the things he loved, gardening being one of his fondest.

I stood by the lake and listened to the children playing when I saw something float by.

It was the ball from our catch.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Consequence Of Failure

Dale stares at the target. Everything is riding on him. The difference between victory and defeat. The difference between eternal glory and a lifetime of infamy.

Dale takes a deep breath and bounces the ball three times. He focuses his mind on this simple act he's done a million times. He refuses to look at his teammates, or listen to the fans nervously watching from the stands.

If he misses, his family will receive death threats. He'll be retired in shame.

Dale releases the ball. He doesn't need to watch to know it's clanked off the front of the rim.

Wrecking Ball

It's a metaphor for wanton destruction, indiscriminate, total. It levels everything in sight, out with the old, room for the new, the outset of a revolution.

But a wrecking ball is just a machine. A big one to be sure, yet still a tool, a vehicle, a spare part--the last one that needs replacing. It's not the ball doing the annihilation, but the driver. It's not the driver, but the foreman, or the one percent, or the unbearable weight of social change.

It's just a giant piece of forged steel. It's just the end of everything you've ever known.

Any Other Year

It’s “New Year’s Eve”, and Nick sits in front of the television gulping beer waiting for the ball to drop. His dog Gatsby rests his head on Nick’s lap seeking attention.

“Okay,” Nick says and rubs Gatsby’s head. “How’s that feel?” Gatsby contentedly wags his tail.

His neighbors are causing a raucous across the hall, laughing and playing loud music which fills the hallway, but the property owner doesn’t care since he’s there too. Nick, a loner, considers his science teaching job and Gatsby his friends.

The ball drops and Nick’s year will be the same as any other year.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Positive

It’s New Year’s Eve and Chad is in quarantine. His Covid-19 test came back negative the first time and he’s waiting on the next one. He doesn’t feel sick and he’s confident the test will come back negative.

With champagne in hand and the ball getting ready to drop, his dog Buddy, cuddles by the warmth of the fireplace like any other night, unaware of a new year ahead.

He watches the lonely host at Times Square shivering from the cold as he counts down. The ball drops and Chad chugs his champagne.

The next afternoon Chad’s test is positive.

From Guest Contributor Lisa Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Untimely Demise Of Adrian Perez

HUBRIS CONTEST:

Joe, doing his best to hide the fear bubbling up from within, kicked dirt from the mound as the next batter sauntered to the plate. This was Adrian Perez, MVP, future Hall-Of-Famer, and the best home run hitter alive.

Ninth inning. Bases loaded. Two outs. Clinging to a one-run lead.

Before Perez entered the batter's box, he did the unthinkable. He pointed towards the outfield, confirming what everyone already knew about the ball's final destination. Joe winced at the shame that was sure to follow.

Nobody was more surprised than Joe Flack when Perez hit a soft grounder to first.

From Guest Contributor Bill Kern

Happy Valentine’s Day

It had been six months since Emma’s dog Max passed away. She still felt his head on her lap, breathing softly as she pet his head. She missed their walks together and his playful barks when she’d throw him the ball. He’d catch it every time, the ball hanging from his mouth.

The picture on the end table had been a favorite. Max in her arms, licking her fingers, tail wagging, a smile on Emma’s face cuddling her friend.

The doorbell rang, distracting Emma.

“Surprise,” her boyfriend said and placed the puppy in her arms.

Emma’s valentine wish came true.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Incensed

The crumpled notebook paper can’t be hurt, no matter how hard it’s thrown. An anemic crackle sounds at impact, a lazy, pointless attempt to uncurl is its sole achievement. The lopsided wad sits atop the unburning end of a Duraflame log. Mercifully, black char ashes the paper’s edge, further loosening the ball until gravity pulls it down to hearth. Still misshapened, I see blue ink, evidence of the second worst opening line in the history of writing. The winner is in my fist, ready to toss to the flames. It’s the only way to bring fire to my words today.

From Guest Contributor DL Shirey

DL Shirey lives in Portland, Oregon, writing fiction, by and large, unless it's small. He has been caught flashing at Café Aphra, 365 Tomorrows, ZeroFlash, Fewer Than 500 and others listed at www.dlshirey.com and @dlshirey on Twitter.

Humbug New Year’s

On the television, the ball in Time’s Square dropped. “Happy New Year,” the crowd shouted. I gulped my wine, not a fan of champagne, and shut the TV. After all, I detested New Year’s Eve. It’s a lonely holiday for some, myself included, and I’d rather get drunk on wine in the comfort of my own home, warm by the fire.

Tired, I took off my robe, climbed into bed and turned off the lamp. I told myself, tomorrow would be just another day.

Instead of spending the first day of the new year relaxing, I typed my resignation letter.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher