Teeth Of A Dragon

“Isn’t he great?” the mother asked amid clanging cymbals.

She looked down noticing that her toddler was no longer by her side.

The dragon who wiggled towards them, opening and closing its massive jaw, had danced its way into the crowd.

The mother searched frantically, calling out her son’s name. She passed grills barbecuing kebabs and performers playing folk music with pan flutes. In better times she enjoyed the ethnic celebration.

An intercom announcement prompted her to hurry to the admin office. Her child sat silently when she arrived.

“I got scared, Mommy. Did you see the dragon’s big teeth?”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Lightning

“Are you ready?” Tim asked.

“Somewhat,” Clara answered, holding a child by the hand. “Who can be? Are you?”

“You want to know like the rest of us,” interjected another neighbour.

“It won’t be pretty,” Tim struggled, unable to say more.

A shuttle-bus pulled up to take them, along with others. They drove down Main Street. Shock froze their faces. Some sobbed.

“Mother nature started it,” the driver said, shaking his head.

Lightning struck the forest outside town limits. Wind fueled the flames in the direction of their town.

“My house is gone,” Clara choked back tears. “Yours too, Tim?”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Is It A Lie?

Anna walks in and out of alleys to avoid the Gestapo, hiding bread and cheese under her coat to feed the Jewish child she is hiding.

Anna, a Catholic, met Helena in the neighborhood when they were children and have been friends ever since. When news broke that Hitler would be sending the Jewish to camps, Anna immediately took her friend’s daughter into hiding.

She makes it home without incident. Anna hurries upstairs to the attic and pushes the latch open.

Anna takes the girl in her arms and tells her everything will be all right.

Is it a lie?

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Conspiracy Theory

Beyond porch lights, snow piles up, sealing in anxious women. They stand at windowsills watching the sky glower. Blinking in the fists of children are glo-stix to throw at the towering drifts, aiming where the eyes should go. Elsewhere, a child snaps his birthday gift of a bow-and-arrow in half. The moon rolls down a hill and thunder beats its metal chest, a rattling that distracts everyone from the whir of an incoming drone. It kicks up all the snow but means no harm, though some will insist the machine was an alien ship, come to take the glo-stix home.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell

Learning To Lose

As a child, Pedro was taught that winning was all that mattered. Yet at the same time, his teachers insisted that when he lost, he must do so with dignity. This was a contradiction.

If winning was all important, his response to defeat was at best meaningless. In truth, conciliation towards failure must be evidence of his disregard for the first lesson.

As an adult, Pedro finally understands. After vanquishing his enemies in battle, hand-to-hand combat, or preemptive surrender, he finds it distasteful when opponents act sullenly towards their new master. Dignity is another word for capitulation to your betters.

Conditional Love

When you said, “I value your effort, not the result,” I believed you loved me; when you said, “Four students got full marks, why didn’t you?” I believed you tried to motivate me; when you said, “You are too stupid even to understand the simplest function,” I believed you were disappointed and didn’t see my pain; when I said, “I don't want to study. I just want to lie in bed,” you said you wished the boy next door who aced all the subjects were your child, and Mum, how could I believe you loved me and not my grade?

From Guest Contributor Huina Zheng

Huina either coaches her students to write at work or write stories for fun after work.

Platero And I: Father

I have always known my father as a man with a beard, Platero.

He was a proud man—always mounted the fiercest stallion, never a simple donkey like you.

I sometimes saw him standing in front of the mirror with small scissors to remove rebellious or – with years passing – white hairs.

As a child I thought it was a fake beard, but I never risked tugging it.

According to the customs of this country it is up to the eldest son to remove the beard of the father, the undertaker said yesterday.

Guess what, Platero, it was real after all.From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

First Meeting

At first glance it appears to be a normal home with a wraparound porch and swing.

The windows are open, and the curtains blow in the warm breeze. Still, I can’t seem to move. Now, I must wonder why I insisted on this meeting. My life is fine. I have a wife and two boys. I don’t need to meet my mother.

She abandoned me, yet I need answers. Even as an adult, I feel as if I’m a child not understanding.

I exit the car and walk to the front door, take a deep breath, and ring the doorbell.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Curse Of Forest Mother

Muma is crying like a child while we are watching the river runs red and dead. The hills above us are crumbling away into the deep, giant sinkholes. The ancient forests are cut down or burned. Muma's hand is so cold, her body is trembling like a leaf. Muma's lips are motionless but I can hear her silent curse…

Now I understand the meaning of those untold words and feel the real wonder and power of her inner voice. The end is near because we are human and humans must be punished for all crimes against our dear Mother Nature.

From Guest Contributor Ivan Ristic

It's Not My Fault

‘Can you please complete your homework?’ the frustrated dad nagged his uninspired child, for three consecutive days, rather the Sony PlayStation grasped her attention.

‘Hmm’ this being her only response.

On the fourth day, the exasperated father was summoned to the principal’s office, knowing full well that he would be questioned regarding his child’s tardiness, he braced himself.

‘Dear Mr. So and So, it saddens us to summon you to school like this,’ the Headmistress began to berate him, ‘your child has complained to us regarding her inability to complete her homework due to you occupying her time after school.

From Guest Contributor Imraan Ganie

Imraan is a seasoned technologist, father of 3, and a lyrical addict who writes short stories, poetry, and limericks in his spare time. His quirky take on life, inspired by his curiously unconventional life experiences lead to twists of humour and tales that are always entertaining. Imraan lives on the Southern Coast of KwaZulu Natal in South Africa. Imraan has two short stories published in 2021 in an anthology called Taxi through Mzansi featuring short stories by twenty of South Africa’s finest authors.