Demonstration

I’m going to eliminate demonstration presentations from my Speech course. I was erasing the board after class tonight when a student approached me, asked if I’d approve a ritual for the assignment. “I’ll need to make an altar, bring a knife.”

I turned to face her, “Sorry… no, Moira, that’s not okay.”

She narrowed her eyes, whispered words I barely caught, “within wood…split a stone…find me there.”

I smiled weakly, “Was that a spell?”

She stormed out. I gathered my books and bag and walked quickly to the car. Under my blouse, my jasper cross tingled warm against my skin.

From Guest Contributor Yvonne Morris

Yvonne is the author of Mother was a Sweater Girl (The Heartland Review Press). Her most recent work has appeared in the Santa Clara Review, The Write Launch, and Friday Flash Fiction.

Bitch Please!

CONTEST SUBMISSION:

I see you and think of stars but they are just stones. I think of you as Moon but it has scars. Maybe Sun but it is just a fireball. A stream of water is what you are off course, your fun never ends. A flower at times, I know your trace is always here and like a flower shall have a small life. You are like my guardian always helping me in this nonsense world, insensitive to blind. You fly, run, cry, have fun. Let me tell you once and for all, you are one of a kind, Bitch!

From Guest Contributor Manmeet Chadha

Manmeet is an Alumunus from the London School of Economics & Political Science. He works in India as an Economist & Writer. He can be reached at http://linkedin.com/in/manmeet-chadha-8b606924

Deep Moaning Blues

They’re traveling incognito, George Washington with a moustache and Abe Lincoln without a beard. Time is like a river that has jumped its banks and carved a brazen new course through the ruins of fabled industries. They follow its many twists and turns, only to find themselves weeks later cold, ragged, and hungry, and under perpetual ban. Meanwhile, killers walk around free if they’re white and have a badge. It’s as though the laws have been rewritten by malignant algorithms. A night of solid sleep is impossible. The moans that keep waking me up, I finally realize, come from me.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie Good is the author of more than a dozen poetry collections, including most recently Gunmetal Sky (Thirty West Publishing).

Three Books

Sure, many of the English majors at Wilson-Reed College had read works by George Orwell, Octavia Butler, and Margaret Atwood before, but they had never read them assembled together in one course, until they took Dr. Regina Cabello’s Survey of Protest Literature.

When word of the curriculum made its way around campus, the board of trustees wrestled to find a loophole that would strip Dr. Cabello of both her tenure and job. Eventually they were successful.

By that time, though, her many students had learned, firsthand, the lessons of it all and were already preparing themselves to join the fight.

From Guest Contributor Ran Walker

Ran is the author of 20 books. He teaches creative writing at Hampton University in Virginia. He can be reached via his website, www.ranwalker.com.

Caramel Sauce

“Sweet,” Dad said, licking his lips.

“Different,” Mom added.

We were seated in the dining room for Thanksgiving dinner. Mysixteen-year-old brother wanted to showcase the skills he had masteredin a culinary arts course.

“Wait!” he exclaimed.

The rest of us watched him taste the meal before him. An expression ofbewilderment spread across his face. He ran back to the kitchen andreturned.

“I emptied out the wrong pot,” he conceded. ‘The caramel sauce wasmeant for apple cake.”

“So what is left for the cake now?” Dad asked while Mom and Irefrained from laughing.

“Turkey gravy.”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.