Fake Spring

You'd think it was a beautiful spring day. The sky was filled with puffy clouds. The temperature was unseasonably warm, perfect for short sleeves. The air had just a hint of pollen, so that anyone with allergies needed to worry. Colorful buds were starting to pop, and every creature, from squirrels to songbirds to rabbits, believed winter was no more.

I would have smiled if I could. Heavy storms were just over the horizon. Thunder, frosty winds, perhaps even a burst of snow.

George would need to hurry if we wanted to bury my corpse before the soil froze over.

Houdini

I heard a story once about Houdini. He took a flight on one of the first airplanes as part of a promotional stunt. Houdini was to be chained in the cockpit and the pilot would jump out in a parachute. He'd then have to escape the chains and land the plane safely. He'd never even flown before.

The plane ended up crashing, and both the pilot and Houdini were killed, with Houdini's corpse still chained up. But then a week later Houdini was spotted performing at the Regent Theatre, Salford.

I suspect that wasn't the real Houdini on that plane.

Open Casket Funeral

Walking inside the church, a woman hands out pamphlets with a picture of the deceased. There’s a room full of people standing and talking. In the corner of the room stands an open casket and your aunt to the left. Tears fall down her cheeks. People walk up in a line and hold her hands, giving condolences. Within the casket, a corpse lays with its pale skin, shut eyelids, and carved lips. Not four months ago your uncle gave you a remote control helicopter so you wouldn’t be the only one in the room without a gift on Christmas day.From Guest Contributor Leif Bradley

Leif is a student of Literature and Creative Writing at Pikes Peak Community College.

Open Casket Funeral

Walking inside the church, a woman hands out pamphlets with a picture of the deceased. There’s a room full of people standing and talking. In the corner of the room stands an open casket and your aunt to the left. Tears fall down her cheeks. People walk up in a line and hold her hands, giving condolences. Within the casket, a corpse lays with its pale skin, shut eyelids, and carved lips. Not four months ago your uncle gave you a remote control helicopter to avoid you being the only one in the room without a gift on Christmas day.From Guest Contributor Leif Bradley

Leif is a student of Literature and Creative Writing at Pikes Peak Community College.

Work Of The Unemployed

I recently lost my job. With nothing much to do, I sneaked the other week into an exhibition at the Galerie der Moderne. The walls were hung with paintings by people who didn’t seem to know how to paint. However, I did enjoy the complimentary wine and the cubes of cheese on frilly toothpicks. I would have stayed longer, only there were these police around. In the old country, my great-grandfather went to fetch a ration of bread, and the loaf was sticking out of his coat when the SS officer who shot him for sport rolled his corpse over.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of Famous Long Ago, a forthcoming prose poetry collection from Laughing Ronin Press.

Lightfall

It took millennia for the rays to alight atop the sky. As It saw them, It rejoiced. Its cold corpse rose from Its slumbering position. The light would not be long now. The radiance burnt the gray skies, who smoldered with violent violet rage, fading to baby blue embers. The trees near It unfurled their stalks, reaching lightwards towards the first sunbeams. Kaleidoscopic rays raked closer. It grinned giddily. So long to shadow and cold. The light finally, finally, finally touched the tops of the trees, which elongated upwards. And as It touched the sky’s embers It smiled, burning happily.

From Guest Contributor Kaleb Bjorkman

Kaleb is an aspiring poet, artist, and electrical engineer from Colorado Springs.

Fall

The blanket of brown leaves, crisp underfoot before the overnight rains, were now a moist, organic mess. The wind was forcing entire sheaves of debris into clammy piles against curbs and hedges.

The water-logged corpse of one of the neighborhood's homeless lay in the street half-covered as well. A growling dog poked at an exposed leg, disturbed by a scent only it could perceive.

Mrs. Roberts waited at the corner for the paramedics. She didn't like the dog bothering the body, but she was unwilling to get any closer. She instead dragged from her cigarette and stared at her phone.

The Attic

The Smith's attic had been used sparely in recent decades. Occasionally, one family member or the other would allow the ebullience of Spring to convince them to open the trap door, but the thick dust cloud that emerged always changed their mind.

As such, an entire ecosystem had erupted. New lifeforms unknown to science inhabited the various niches created among the forgotten furniture and boxes of National Geographics.

The Smith's often felt guilty for their neglect. Their cousin Tommy had once visited the attic and his body was probably still rotting up there. His parents always nagged them about it.

Carl

The windows to Carl's apartment were always closed. Summer heat and cancer-causing insulation made the one-bedroom flat in the still unseemly section of Brooklyn stink of rot and turpentine.

Carl sometimes paced about with a listless gait. He was married to the apartment, having been outside it only once or twice in his entire memory. There was nothing worth exploring that hadn't been explored years before. The bulk of his time was spent gazing out the window.

But as far as New York City house cats went, Carl had it better than most thanks to the corpse in the bedroom.