March's End

She can feel it slowly growing. All in existence is born of thought. It starts slow and deep, pounding, hiding somewhere in the recesses of her mind. Expectations lead to disappointment, which inevitably gives birth to resentment. Everything buried from years past mutated into fertile embryonies, vibrating, taking on a life of their own.

As March's end nears, thoughts of isolation waver. A new world awaits those who are willing to embrace its damp offerings. Fruitful grounds to transplant the seeds vaulted away, protecting them from winter's crystalline grasp. New vessels to transport thoughts. Pollinating all those she will touch.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Soothing Sounds

As soon as I entered the apartment, I felt the heavy air of disappointment. Lauren hadn’t made the all-star team. She’d been practicing her foul shots and layups for months. She was curled into the recliner with a blanket tucked under her chin. I knew better than to speak to her.

On my way into the kitchen, it struck me that my father had discovered texting and Face Time on his cell phone. I shot him a text, turned the speaker on, and my father’s warmth came through my phone.

“Pop Pop” Lauren squealed, jumping and tossing the blanket aside.

From Guest Contributor Edith Gallagher Boyd

Brad

Brad is splayed out on his couch watching the Seahawks. He is surrounded by snacks and beer. He had played football in college but had never made The League, a great disappointment. Suddenly Brad felt very sleepy. He put down his beer and closed his eyes. “I will rest for a few minutes,” he sighed.

In the next moment, Brad is running down the field in a large, noisy stadium. People in the stands are cheering him on. Brad has never felt so exhilarated.

Brad’s wife comes into the room, screams, and dials 911. Brad has achieved his wildest dream.

From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius

Courage

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

“Can I help you?”

“I...I just need a stamp, please.” he stammers, tapping his envelope on the counter. “Do...do you have anything interesting?”

“Not in singles.” She crinkles her nose, mirroring his disappointment. “A Purple Heart?”

“Perfect.”

His quarter and her first-class stamp exchange hands.

“Front box picks up at five. Still time to get that in today’s mail.”

At the door, he affixes the stamp and writes out the address. He retrieves the long-carried letter that starts ‘Dear...Mom?’ and tucks it inside. He seals it, takes a deeper breath, and passes the letter through the slot.

From Guest Contributor Scott Burnam

Christmas Morning

Ben watches the kids open their presents. Sharon's smile is frozen in place. His too. It's like a hard layer of snow has settled over everyone, precluding self reflection.

He remembers the frenetic joy that would build as his presents got bigger, even as they became fewer. After the last one, a shameful disappointment set in, a feeling he refused to acknowledge even to himself.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He slinks to the bathroom to read the texts in solitude. Sharon already suspects.

He uses the holidays as an excuse not to say anything. Let's wait until January.

First Contact Downer

First contact occurred in the year twenty twenty-two.

The spaceship lands on a cold rainy day. December the seventh at eight fifteen in the evening.

Many high-ranking government officials from around the world are lined up by the tarmac waiting to greet the visitors.

Around the landing site crowds have gathered from all around the globe. Hoping to get a glimpse of aliens on this historic occasion.

A sliding hatch opens and a group of aliens depart the ship.

The two sides make small talk. There is great disappointment when earthlings learn the race of aliens is called Kill Humans.

From Guest Contributor Denny E. Marshall