Trick Play

"Ooh, a street magician. Let's watch!"

Bill kept his sigh to himself, not wanting to disappoint his date. Women always enjoyed vapid entertainments and he was used to indulging them. At least in the beginning.

"Sure."

This magician seemed to be of the most mundane sort, relying on rudimentary sleight of hand and clumsy misdirection. Bill had seen all these tricks on YouTube and delighted in calling out the techniques to the onlookers and ruining the illusion. Sheila dragged him away with an embarrassed apology.

It wasn't until the waitress brought the check that Bill realized his wallet had disappeared.

Sylvia And Mel's Future

Sylvia was at Madame Olga's. The psychic peered into her crystal ball.

“Will Mel make it?”

“There's a chance.”

“His liver's bad. Dr Fruman's taking care of him.”

Mel, Sylvia's ex-husband, was hospitalized. She was at the fortuneteller's for a second opinion.

“Even though it's Fruman, I see Mel pulling through.”

“Really? Do you think a near-death experience will change him?”

“Change?”

“Will I get any support checks Mel owes me?”

“Checks, huh?”

Madame Olga stared intently. Syvia had paid $225 for the ‘Deluxe View’ into the future.

“Madame Olga?”

“I'm looking…”

“Even one lousy check?”

“I'm looking...I'm looking...”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

The Engineers Play Chess

Christos and Lieberman, veteran development engineers, played chess every lunch hour. Watson, a young engineer, joined the project, watched them play and immediately starting making unwanted comments. They put up with him for two weeks.

One day Christos briefly studied the board, then moved Knight to F4.

"That's a strange move," Watson commented.

Lieberman immediately moved rook to H6.

"That doesn't make sense. What did you do that for?" Watson demanded.

The two chess players said nothing, just stared at him.

"OK, I'm leaving," Watson finally said.

"Check," said Christos and reset his pieces.

"Mate," Lieberman added and did likewise.

From Guest Contributor Ronald Larsen

Chatrang

“Your move,” Death said.

They can’t hear me. Please give me another chance. The mortal shivered.

“Thirteen moves.” The Guardian Angel moved his bishop.

The Death Angel smirked. "Check."

“It's never enough to defend their lives,” the Guardian sighed.

No, I don’t want to die.

“They never learn, do they?” Death chuckled. “No empathy for others, until violence knocks on their doors.”

No, please, I’m a good person.

“Someday, maybe, I hope to defend a man who is worth a decent game." The guardian placed his knight.

Oh god, I can’t see anything, I want to live!

Death roared, “Checkmate.”

From Guest Contributor Amberstar Rosette

Amberstar is a writer who lives in the Czech Republic

Collect

The men stand quietly, exchanging cigarettes and glances. There is nothing to say.

A klaxon sounds. More than one man sighs with relief: the mine-cage rises from below. Two men open the cage doors, collect the dripping bones of the man who lost the draw.

“Sacrifice accepted,” the mine owner announces, as though the men can't see the evidence themselves.

The bones are buried. The widow and children will receive a fat check from the owner, and much pity for the “unpreventable accident.”

“Okay, boys,” the foreman slaps his hat on. “Go ahead and collect. Coal ain't gonna fetch itself.”

From Guest Contributor Laura Lovic-Lindsay