After Destruction

The prophet mutter his pronouncements to a jaded congregation that paid no attention. They didn't need to hear the truth from the mouth of a crazed zealot to understand this time was different. The world really was coming to an end. At least all the parts that mattered.

War. Drought. Pestilence. Disease.

Everything promised had finally arrived, and the people, rather than tending to their own affairs, were content to rage and destroy and ensure that everyone would meet the same fate. Leave nothing behind.

The prophet continued to mumble for anyone who might be listening.

"After destruction comes rebirth."

Live

The Fuhrer took everything. My husband, two sons, and our home that had been in the family for years. I’m all that’s left. The war is over, but who and what do I have to go back to. I lived through the filth and disease when everyone else was dying and there had been nothing I could do.

When the Americans arrived and liberated the camps, I fell to my knees and wept. I couldn’t believe it was over.

It’s tragic and my heart aches every-day, but I will continue to live, if not for myself then for my family.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Lisa has been writing since 2010 and has had many micro-flash fiction stories published. In 2018 her book, Shorts for the Short Story Enthusiasts, was published, and The Importance of Being Short in 2019. Her most recent book In A Flash, was published in the spring of 2022.

She currently resides on Long Island, New York with her husband Richard and dogs Lucy and Breanna.

First Step

My head rotates like the Earth around the sun, except at excessive speed.

It’s difficult to go outside, being afraid of germs and diseases, and wearing a mask does nothing to assure me. I went from going out when necessary to ordering what I need online. My therapist keeps saying I need to take it one day at a time, so today I’m taking my first step.

I place my hand on the front doorknob and breathe. It slowly creaks open.

As I walk onto my front porch, I remember what it’s like to feel the air against my face.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Drowning Memories

Alex listened to the waves crashing against the shoreline while seagulls flew above, searching for prey. The sun beamed on his face and he wished he had worn a hat.

He walked the beach, the hot sand stinging his toes. Boats sailed in the distance and he wondered what it would feel like to be free of land, but that thought dissipated. His mind shifted to when he almost drowned and his father pulled him from the water shouting his name, punching his chest until he spit up.

His father was now the one drowning, of a disease called cancer.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Happier Times

Lindsey searched the attic for old family photos. Her dad had just passed away from Alzheimer’s and she wanted to make a collage for the funeral. Through dust and cobwebs she came across the box. She found the photo of her and her dad when she was five-years-old. The Ferris wheel was scary to her young eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be with you to hold your hand.” She heard her dad’s voice.

She pressed the picture close to her chest. Then she placed the picture in the pile of memories she’d cherish from happier times before his disease took him.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Four A.M. Flyby

Disease shrunk his body to nothingness; pain drew up his limbs, tightening his skin until not even his love for her could stave off time.

Finally, he spread his body wide in ecstasy, unfolding each joint, stretching parched skin that once pulsed strong with every heartbeat. With breath diminishing, he flexed each finger, arm, leg, until he was lifted up and out into the dawn.

Four friends awoke, soothed by the tender touch of a breeze kissing their brows. His soul passed; he whispered, “Goodbye, old and treasured friends.”

It was his leaving hour; it was his four a.m. flyby.

From Guest Contributor Karen Sallee

Smashed Glass

You remember: a blurry red light darting across the sky; the glossy road and its skewed mirror of your forehead; flashes of light into the eyes of a man in a hat, crossing the street. He remembers: two tons of steel collapsing from a rooftop, crushing his best friend flat. All that was left were two blue fingers and the smell of dust. The building remembers: the bones and bricks who made it strong, the lightning and rain licking its sides; burst out windows, a fire devouring from within like a disease. The fire remembers being the thing that burned.

From Guest Contributor, Jeremy S. Griffin

Pigeons With Pants

In an effort to eradicate the disease carrying pigeon population from the city, the mayor signed into law an ordinance requiring all pigeons within the city limits to wear pants. His hope was that they would be forced to flee the city as they did not possess the dexterity necessary to fashion their own clothing. He underestimated the pigeons’ solidarity and the ordinance instead sparked an uproar in the garmentless pigeon community. The pigeons quit their jobs as letter carriers in protest and decided to focus their efforts solely on their cynical hobby of defecating on large man-made objects.

From Guest Contributor, Sean Franklin

Miniature Dragons

Before science invented the microscope, there was a popular theory that supposed illness and disease were the result of miniature dragons that attacked our immune systems. People believed the only way to defeat them was to equip an army of miniature knights to combat these miniscule, invisible dragons.

The king called for volunteers. They would join a mating program modeled by the dog breeders who created the miniature schnauzer. Over the course of several generations, they would sire knights tiny enough to fight the dragons.

Eventually it was discovered that germs, not dragons, were making people sick.

Sometimes science sucks.

The Junk Yard Kids

Scottie and Claire loved the junk yard. To other folks it may have seemed a dire place to grow up, but for the two siblings, it was paradise.

Sure they had to worry about disease and oxidation and rats--man were there rats--but they had never known a moment of boredom their entire lives. Despite the other parents looking down at them, to the neighborhood children they were practically royalty.

Modesty had been instilled in them at an early age. Their parents made it very clear they were never to mention they were from the richest family in town.