The Lilith Bird

He was tempted by her cardinal blouson and red pout, by the slippy-strap escaping down her arm, showing she was a little disheveled. She was unadorned, but her fangs flickered gold in the glow of candles and broken mirrors. He imagined the impossible, undressing her in his world, how he would unravel in her beautiful feathers. But he knew her kind, how she could only take and not be taken. She would ravish him in a few ecstatic moments and leave his husk in a heap of satin sheets, while she licked the last drops of blood from her claws. From Guest Contributor Lorette C. Luzajic

Lorette reads, writes, publishes, edits, and teaches small fictions. Her work has appeared in hundreds of journals and a dozen anthologies. She was selected for Best Small Fictions 2023. She has been nominated several times for Best Microfictions, Best of the Net, and the Pushcart Prize, and shortlisted for Bath Flash Fiction and The Lascaux Review flash prizes. Her collections of small fictions are The Rope Artist, The Neon Rosary, Pretty Time Machine and Winter in June. A collection of her work has also been translated into Urdu by Saad Ali. Lorette is the founding editor of The Ekphrastic Review, a journal of literature inspired by art. Lorette is also an award-winning mixed media artist, with collectors in more than 40 countries so far.

Nature

NATURE SUBMISSION:

I watch the red cardinal swoop from tree to tree and chirp in unison with the other birds while flapping its wings. The air is crisp and the sun abundant. The breeze gives a slight chill, so I wrap a scarf around my neck and continue planting.

The sun begins to fade, and the birds disappear into the sky. I wipe my forehead and remove the gardening gloves.

As I sit with my feet up sipping a cold glass of water, I say a silent prayer that the pandemic ends, and we are free as the birds flying this earth.

From Guest Contributor Lisa Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Red Cardinal

Mark sat next to his motionless mother.

“How is she doing today,” Mark asked the nurse. A red cardinal perchedon the window sill chirped.

“The same. Quiet and still.”

Mark opened his journal and wrote the date. He spent his time writinghappy moments with his mother rather than spending time on a novel.

“Mom, look. There’s a red cardinal, your favorite bird.” Sophia’s mouthsagged, expressionless.

He sighed. “Mom, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Mark left the room with a blank space in his journal. Alzheimer’s tookhis mother away and he didn’t know how to endure the emptiness.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher