Good And Evil

Bradley wondered what was wrong with him. Other kids may have complained about working their chores, but they enjoyed eating bacon and hamburgers, and talked excitedly about weekend hunting trips.

Bradley didn't know anyone for whom slaughtering a cow prompted an existential crisis. There was no doubt he was the weird one in town, and his parents, his brothers and sisters, his classmates, even his teachers, all knew this to be true.

He simply couldn't shake the feeling that just because everyone else thought eating animals was normal, there was something inherently evil about it.

From the cow's perspective anyway.

Fade Away

As I pass through the automatic doors into the library, the smell of musty books fills the air. I browse the shelves for what seems like hours until I come across a fantasy novel with magic and fire breathing dragons. My favorite.

I plop into the usual large, cushioned chair, and my mind wanders to all the chores I need to do when I get home. The bills need to be paid; I have stacks of laundry waiting to be washed, dinner needs to be cooked. It makes my stomach churn.

I start chapter one.

All my worries fade away.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Dreams

"What'd you expect? I am who I am."

With a scowl she looked down at him sprawled across the weathered porch, a cigar box guitar across his lap. He knew to say more now would elicit a sharp slap across his perspiring jaw.

"You got chores, Bo. Get off your butt and get out in that field."

Slowly he rose, put the instrument down gingerly, and peered at the rich delta loam between his toes. He reached for a gunny sack and turned toward endless rows of cotton shimmering in the heat.

I'm gonna be somebody, he thought. I am.

From Guest Contributor Fred Miller

Fred is a California writer. Over fifty of his stories and poems have appeared in publications around the world in the past ten years. Many may be seen on his blog.

Spending A Penny Dreadful

The Fleadh Ceoil festival was at its height. Those who hadn’t arrived early were relegated to rural camp-sites.

Still, even on the outskirts of the small Kerry village the women’s toilets were dutifully labelled with the Gaelige ‘MNA.’ It wouldn’t do for traditional/folk festivals to be less than authentic.

The next generation of the attending family carnivals had finished their setting-up chores and, thankful of the break, watched with some amusement as the drunk approached with strained gait and increasing urgency until finally bursting into the ‘Ladies,’ zip down.

Screams.

"Must be a wil’ handling being dyslexic," one mused.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

Getting Under Her Skin

After a pupa has transformed into an adult moth, even a scientist has a difficult time connecting the new form with the old.

Similarly, when mild-mannered Bruce Banner gets antagonized and changes into the Hulk, it's hard to believe they are the same individual.

There are many examples of such disparate metamorphoses in nature.

But nothing can be so shocking as the enantiodromia my mother undergoes after she discovers that I've forgotten to do my chores. Where once was a loving parent who'd literally give her life for mine, now there's a raving lunatic intent on cutting short my existence.