Moody

The twilight sky blazed with attitude, warning everyone to speed indoors. The clouds hung ominously low on the horizon, pink, black, orange, and grey clashing together as darkness settled over the town. Rain, lightning, and even tornadoes were all possible tonight, like a sleep-deprived toddler on too much sugar.

Ben turned his collar up and sank his hands into his coat pockets, but otherwise meandered on, his attention entirely concentrated on the argument he was running away from. Rather than confront his wife with what he knew, or thought he knew anyway, he'd just keep walking towards the sun.

The Present

“Are you okay, Ed?”

To relieve the pressure, Ed tugged on his undershirt collar. He and Mel were at the counter of AL'S DINER.

“My Aunt...”

“What?”

His words came haltingly.

“Aunt Edna...”

Each holiday, she gave the constricting presents.

Before Ed, they went to Uncle Fred. The poor man suffered from the waist down. After the holidays, he always had trouble with his privates.

Always Edna's too-tight underwear.

“Your throat, Ed? Can you swallow the oatmeal?”

His jugulars stood out.

He twisted awkwardly on the swivel seat.

His throat?

His undershirt?

“It's not the throat I'm worried about, Mel.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Every Mickle

The local Farmers’ Bank went belly up.

It was a cooperative concern, like many in the region. The Secretary of the Bank had taken a loan in her late husband’s name on forged documents. Almost all the staffers either embezzled or connived with the defalcators.

Investors, most of them traders and peasants, were shell-shocked. Some blamed themselves for their imprudence while others huddled indecisively.

Kali, the old woman who sold candles, also had a deposit in the bank.

As the bank’s director exited from his car, she confronted him.

“Where’s my money?” Kali yelled, catching the man by his collar.

From Guest Contributor Sathyajith Panachikal

Sathyajith. P.S has reconciled himself to the reality that it is impossible to be reborn in an ancient past with a smartphone and internet connection. Currently, he is trying in real earnest to regain the originality he had when he first chanced upon this planet.

Worth

We knew that the Dragon was on the train, hired to guard the locked safe that held the payroll. Too many armed clerks had been lost. But in such a small space, the Dragon could not stretch his wings, could not swing his claws. If he used his fire, the wooden train car would burn. Yes, the safe would survive, but it might fall to the tracks and be subject to anyone with the block and tackle to retrieve it. No one knew it was the Dragon we were after. You would think they would have noticed the giant collar.

From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner

Whose Apartment?

I rent an apartment that's above a garage.

But there's a dog who has made a home for himself in the corner.

He's without a collar

and needs a bath.

I'm polite, so I don't say anything.

But he growls as if it's his apartment!

I explain; I'm paying the rent, so really it's my apartment, so he needs to accept reality.

He dismisses my argument.

I offer him food and he eats it.

I give him a bath and he goes along with it.

Finally, he licks my face in an apparent suggestion that we become roommates.

I accept.

From Guest Contributor Kent V Anderson

When Kent isn't writing stories, he is building robots.

Unwelcome

The skittering as her nails scrabbled at the tiles on the front door hall: impotent in the face of his grip on her favourite leash.

The desperate eyes and face as she strained against a collar she could have slipped off her wasted neck; had her limbs moved that way. That is my last image of Honey.

Her frenzied bark in the background of the terrible phone call I took from traction was the last noise and the reason I vowed never to have another dog.

I’m going to kill the spoiled little Shitzon which pisses on my book collection.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

Inconsolable

When Daniel heard the first notes of the song begin to play, he immediately broke out in inconsolable sobs. The best efforts of those around him only made his hysterics worse. The tears ran off his cheeks and began soaking into his collar and tie.

"I'm sorry," he kept repeating between desperate breaths. "It's just...that song...always does this to me."

"Pull yourself together, Jones. This is no time to blubber."

Daniel looked around, first at his boss, then his marketing associates at the conference table. The clients were there as well. Indeed, this was no time to blubber.

Mortal Sin

Shawn ran from the confessional like the Devil might grab him by the collar and drag him back down to Hell.

"What'd you get?" I whispered.

"Nothing. He said it was just a minor sin." I smiled. If stealing money from the donation box was considered minor, I was scot-free.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I left a mess in the rectory."

I didn't know what excommunicated meant but I felt I'd been unjustly served until my Pop said that Father Flannery obeyed only one dictate: cleanliness was next to Godliness. Violations were treated as a mortal sin.