Dirt

Dirt and dried mud clung to every surface of the house, a layer of grime so thick it suggested years had passed since any cleaning had been undertaken. Yet the inhabitants, their own clothes equally soiled, acted as if everything about the situation were normal. Their sunny dispositions and politeness in the face of even the rudest insinuations forced the consideration that exterior appearances were, at least in this situation, misleading.

When the discovery of a mass grave was discovered underneath their domicile, conclusions were again revised. Contamination of the home is indeed a sign of contamination of the soul.

Dirt Nap

When you say 'dirt nap' it's supposed to be frightening, right? But who doesn't love a nap? It's not menacing enough as a threat. Maybe if you said 'dirt bath' or 'death nap' or something. Then it would have a lot more weight. I mean you went through all the trouble of getting a gun and putting on that mask, and you're undercutting the effect when you mention nap.

Shit, you've shot me!

Well the last thing I'm going to be thinking about as I bleed out is a quiet nap in the dirt, and that doesn't sound so bad...

Beneath The Snow

Winter arrived early. Sheep were herded off the pasture. Leaves gathered by Pa stood statuesque in domed heaps.

Grandpa didn’t look at them; reminded him of Quonset huts, the friends he lost in war. Our border collies stared and growled, sensing something amiss. I discovered why.

Furry heads with pink pointed snouts erupted like volcanoes from new, smaller mounds across the hushed terrain, spewing dirt from within.

Pa noticed? Doubt it. Rosie pulled him into town often.

With spring in a few months, planting season will bring him back to the fields.

He’ll learn all there’s to know about moles.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Watching Grass Grow

Willow loved the flowers.

Yellow lilies sprouted from breaks in old, torn tree bark. Hydrangeas shot up from the ground so beautifully. Willow waited with anticipation and baited breath as grass grew. She watched every moment of it. As tiny white tips sprouted from the dirt, oh joy of joys, the beginning was so exciting! Then, the tiny blades raised up to the sun, and Willow screamed with excitement. She couldn't contain her joy. She watched impatiently as the leaves turned from green, to yellow, to orange, then brown. The moss grew over Willow's feet. Oh, to be a tree.From Guest Contributor Eliana Diaz

Eliana is an English literature and visual art major at UCCS. She is a feature artist in the 50th edition of Riverrun. She is a large fan of mythology, fantasy, and other make-believe.

Spending Time Alone

I live another life between raised garden rows, meditating on what worries me the most—feeling anxious about the seedlings that I’ve upended from their plug trays, pushing them head first into the palm of my hand, where I take a moment to study their good health, before I shove them into dirt that’s expansive as it is uncertain—a space where I imagine safety is being somewhere: tomatoes belong here—eggplants over there—and, in-between—bright, ruffled marigolds, guarding the future from an army of beetles, no bigger than poppy seeds, that seemingly ingest everything when no one’s looking.

From Guest Contributor M.J.Iuppa

M.J.’s fourth poetry collection is This Thirst (Kelsay Books, 2017). For the past 33 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.

The Untimely Demise Of Adrian Perez

HUBRIS CONTEST:

Joe, doing his best to hide the fear bubbling up from within, kicked dirt from the mound as the next batter sauntered to the plate. This was Adrian Perez, MVP, future Hall-Of-Famer, and the best home run hitter alive.

Ninth inning. Bases loaded. Two outs. Clinging to a one-run lead.

Before Perez entered the batter's box, he did the unthinkable. He pointed towards the outfield, confirming what everyone already knew about the ball's final destination. Joe winced at the shame that was sure to follow.

Nobody was more surprised than Joe Flack when Perez hit a soft grounder to first.

From Guest Contributor Bill Kern

Sick World

It’s like a post-apocalyptic movie. A usually bustling city is eerily vacant. Essential supplies have come to include liquor, guns, and toilet paper. Who isn’t secretly embarrassed? Around midnight I take a puzzle apart just for the hell of it. The next morning my department holds a Zoom session on how to prevent cheating in online classes. Other professors mention they also have been having strange dreams. In mine, I’m eating Crown Fried Chicken on a bench while eyeballs the size of boulders roll across the grass and dirt, and a woman I recognize from TV weeps into her hands.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie Good is the author of What It Is and How to Use It (2019) from Grey Book Press, among other poetry collections.

Shine

Scrub scrub scrub the floor. Make it sparkle. Make it beam. Kneel on the floor, wash the tiles. Use the rag. Soak it up. Use the brush. Clean the cracks. Use the sponge. Get rid of the spot. Quick. Go quick. Before they come, before they notice. Faster. Go faster. Before it smells, before it stains. Scrub scrub scrub. No! No, there is still red! Pour more bleach. Make it shine. There should be no trace of dirt or dust. No trace of blood or guts. Ah! Finally. Clean. Shiny. Spotless. No one will know. Now, deal with the body.

From Guest Contributor Alexa Hulmes

The Landing

Andy hears a strange hum. He walks up the hill. At the bottom he sees a flying saucer spinning.

The saucer shows signs of corrosion, dents and dings dot the worn skin. Dirt and grime blemish its surface.

Andy thinks the damaged craft is landing. Too his surprise the vehicle starts spinning faster and gains altitude. In seconds the ship is above him, then gone.

Andy didn’t know they landed three years ago. Moments before Andy arrives the saucer had emerged from the ground. After spending all that time under the earths’ crust exploring and meeting the inhabitants they leave.

From Guest Contributor Denny E. Marshall

Birthright

Brandon surveyed the sea of grass standing before him. The wind, which shook the trees and rained leaves down from above, was swallowed up in the green swathe so that the air at ground level was nearly silent.

When he left home, this had been an empty plain of course dirt and stone. Summer storms eroded the land, winter froze what remained, and travel across was rough but manageable.

Now the surface was alive and Brandon was scared. But he was also determined to return to his birthright.

He took only a few steps before he drowned in the vegetation.