Smog Moon

It's one of those days when the pollution's so thick, you can stare directly at the sun and it looks like the old Japanese flag. We call it the smog moon.

We used to get away with a lot on smog moon days because most sensible people staid indoors. But as the pollution got worse, and the blue sky days less common, people stopped thinking about what the air was doing to their lungs and just went about their business.

Now, most of the gang are either dead, in jail, or under contract, and smog moons make me sad remembering.

The Walk

Spring is here. The annual renewal of the town means that colors abound, including in the faces of every passerby. People say hello to each other in a friendly manner that hasn't been seen since the previous year. The smiles are contagious.

Stephen, the town priest, is perhaps the only unhappy soul to be found. He sulks from the portico of the church as the healthy and eager parishioners who remain alive celebrate as if he weren't there.

Business was much better during the plague. For once in living memory the townspeople actually welcomed his ministry instead of the doctor's.

Understaffed

“I’m sorry, Number Six,” Death said to his probationary assistant, “but I’m going to have to let you go. Even though business is booming, and I need all the help I can get, you’ve just made too many mistakes. You’ve ended the lives of three people who were not supposed to die...just this week!”

“Bu...but,” Six stammered. “It wasn’t my fault. The paperwork was mixed up on one and the GPS wasn’t working on the others. Plus, all the overtime and...”

“Enough!” Death barked. “No excuses! There is just no place in this organization for a Dim Reaper!” From Guest Contributor Lee Hammerschmidt

Lee is a Visual Artist/Writer/Troubadour who lives in Oregon. He is the author of the short story collections, A Hole Of My Own and It’s Noir O’clock Somewhere. Check out his hit parade on YouTube!

Spoiler Alert

“There’s, like, a huge pile of packages out here, did you know?”“Get out of the way!” I shout, toppling my children like bowling pins.“What’s in there, Mom? Is it for us?” ask my mosquitoes.“None of your business!”My stomping covers the clamorous clattering of toys as I drag the heavy stack upstairs. I cram the boxes in my closet and hide them behind rarely-worn dresses. An old blanket covers the teetering mountain.“Can we see?”“No! Don’t come in here!”Slamming the door shut, I wonder if they might have guessed that their Christmas presents had arrived.From Guest Contributor Sarah Czarnecki

Sarah is a dog-walking, fast-knitting, list-making Sconnie who sometimes writes.

Sweet Revenge

“Trespassers deserve to be punished,” Ralph stated. “They have no business being on property they’re not entitled to.”

He stared at his damaged lawn.

Jeremy winced. “You sure about that? Might’ve been here before you.”

Ralph scratched his chin. “Okay, they’re diligent workers but they aren’t working for me.”

“How about you forget and forgive. Better still, prepare a nice meal for them.”

“That’s what I had in mind. Got all the fixings right here in my bag.“

After mixing up the concoction and serving it, Ralph watched.

With the sweet taste of sugar, the ants entered their underground home.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

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

A Philosophic Mind

He returned the edition of Kant to the library, unread again. He came out bearing Sartre’s “Being and Nothingness.” Surely he could make a last effort to master existentialism.

He decided to sit down on the bench in the high street to watch the passersby.

“How foolish they are,” he mused, “going on so unreflectively with their trivial business.”

“Not a philosophic mind amongst them,” he scoffed.

“They probably think I’m just an elderly man sitting here with nothing to do,” he surmised.

How wrong he was, for, unnoticed by the passing multitudes, no one thought about him at all.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher

The Subway

Standing three feet tall Travis was wearing a Celtics hat, jersey, and green shoes on the subway with his Dad.

“Dad, why is that guy sleeping??”

“Shhh… you don’t want to wake him.”

“I’m awake, don’t mind me none.” Dressed in tattered clothing, he sipped a bottle from a paper bag.

“What are you drinking?” Travis asked.

“That’s not our business, Travis.”

“This is just what you drink when you’re lonely and life isn’t working out.”

“You can hang out with us if you want.”

With watery eyes he stared outside. “If only more people were like you.”

From Guest Contributor Steve Colori

The Clock Tower

The clock tower, situated in the center of the town square, afforded views of the entire valley. No shadow could hide from its rapacious stare.

Townspeople went about their business quietly, all eyes on the ground, hoping to avoid unwanted attention.

Rebecca and Victor met in the churchyard green. They'd yearned for each other since youth, but had never managed to share even kiss. Now might be that moment.

Time stopped. The entire town froze.

When the clock resumed, Rebecca and Victor, despite being certifiably sober, returned to their homes after once again awakening from a stupor under mysterious circumstance.

How To Succeed In Business

Stephen had run out of work nearly an hour past and so resorted to tidying his inbox and creating email filters that would almost certainly remain unused after tonight. He thought about brewing another pot of coffee, but the late hour warned him against any more caffeine.

Stephen perked up when he saw the light go out in Mr. Campbell's office. He scrambled for his bag and coat, flipped off his computer, and almost ran for the elevator. He had a clever joke picked out already.

Mr. Campbell hated these encounters. Tomorrow he would call HR and have Stephen fired.

Career Change

Gareth had retired from the superhero business because he grew weary of dealing with the inflated egos of supervillains. It didn’t help that many of the people he saved from certain doom were generally ungrateful and occasionally blamed him for causing more harm than good in his frequent efforts to save the day. Feeling burnt out, Gareth went to law school and became an attorney. Almost a year into his new life, following a particularly loathsome day, he decided his old job wasn’t so bad after all. Gareth went home, donned his tights and cape again, and never looked back.

From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten