The House Of Sky

The house stands camouflaged. Painted blue, it bleeds into the sky, camouflaged, hiding the deep-red hurt inside. “How do you appear so serene?” asks the inside to its out. How do you not give credence to the suffering within us? “I must maintain hope,” the outside says. “The pain within our facade is already causing stress cracks and chipping in my optimistic veneer. My face was once a cloud-like cream. Now its blueness, though mistaken for a sort of cheer—is actually the shade of sadness. When she passes, and finally ceases this struggle, let us rebuild, recolor, reinvent ourselves.”

From Guest Contributor Keith Hoerner

Cannibal Snacks

The only store open at that hour was out of the first-aid cream I needed. Security cameras recorded what happened next. I ran amok in the chips and candy aisle, as if a slave to junk food. It was scary how much I could pack in. By the time the cops showed up, I was outside again and a cat had become just a red smear in the road. Someone recently asked me how I would describe red to a blind person. I shrugged. No one wants your honest opinion, ever. They may say they do, but they really don’t.From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie Good is the author of The Titanic Sails at Dawn (Alien Buddha Press, 2019)

My Nana's Custard Tarts

Reflected by the low sun, her chair cast almost mechanical shadows.

Her milky waxy eyes somehow still sparkled.

She chuckled and a few chins flapped like defrosted chicken skin.

I sat pinned, and listened well.

So she told me about custard tarts.

"A good custard tart is rare you know, but you know when you have found one, the pastry is shorter than a long weekend, but as flaky as a veteran hippy! The filling, lovemaking of newlyweds, egg and vanilla, on velvet sheets of cream, complete with nutmeg confetti."

We both sat grinning at the crumbs on our plates.

From Guest Contributor Christoctopus