Platero And I: Miss Dolores

Look at Don Fernando, Platero. He is wearing his best suit.

He bought it thirty-seven years ago, when he was first invited to read to the fifth grade Miss Dolores has taught for so long. He had written two children’s short stories in his life. Miss Dolores loved both.Today he will be reading for the last time. Miss Dolores is retiring and her successor doesn’t believe in reading by 'a failed writer.'

"What are you going to do now?" I asked.

“Write new stories,” he replied adamantly.

Maybe he'll write short stories about a sweet donkey like you, Platero.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

Platero And I: Father

I have always known my father as a man with a beard, Platero.

He was a proud man—always mounted the fiercest stallion, never a simple donkey like you.

I sometimes saw him standing in front of the mirror with small scissors to remove rebellious or – with years passing – white hairs.

As a child I thought it was a fake beard, but I never risked tugging it.

According to the customs of this country it is up to the eldest son to remove the beard of the father, the undertaker said yesterday.

Guess what, Platero, it was real after all.From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

Platero And I: The Bridge

Do you remember last year, Platero? We were heading off to Señora Jiménez to bring her some deadwood.

We were already halfway across the narrow stone bridge over the Rio Molino when Juan, the warden of the hacienda, came running towards us. He shouted he was in a hurry – he suspected his daughter was meeting her lover Ramon at that same moment. He must have frightened you, Platero, because there was no way to get you moving. You stood there for over two hours.

Juan sends his greetings: “Tell your donkey that thanks to his stubbornness I’m a grandfather now.”

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé Suys (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

Year Of Atonement

The Grim Reaper took things slower, started to travel by tricycle during the week and by donkey on the weekends. At night we kept warm around matchsticks and dumpster fires. For entertainment we compared peanut butter and jelly recipes. Snooze buttons recorded high anxiety days. Snooze alarms provided the year’s soundtrack. Almost everyone drank alcohol to mournful excess. Even coffee was served wrapped in brown paper bags. Coincidentally, that was the last year for the Miss America pageant. The final talent show, with an extra-large flame thrower, was really something. For months afterwards people sold charred auditorium remains as souvenirs.

From Guest Contributor Mike James

Data Dada

I walked for eight months, following a man who was carrying books on a donkey. I thought of it as my way of creating memories and putting them in my diary, except I don’t have a diary. So, yes, it’s ironic. Now as I go around the city, I see cigarette butts and chewing gum on the pavement, and people clipping their fingernails in the subway. I mean, who would do that, leave their DNA all over the place for others to collect and store? It’s like the secret to keeping a secret is the only secret still being kept.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of What It Is and How to Use It from Grey Book Press. He co-edits the journals Unbroken and UnLost.

Jafar And The Magic Ring

Jafar found his magic ring in a Baghdad trash heap. While polishing it, a powerful djinni appeared.

"Your wish is my command."

Jafar was ecstatic and his mind pleasured in all the magnificent wealth and luxuries that would now be his.

"I wish to be the richest man in the world."

The djinni declined. "That's too much trouble. Wish something else."

"Then I wish to marry a beautiful princess."

To Jafar's consternation, the djinni again refused. "That's even worse."

After much negotiation, Jafar found himself the proud owner of a lovely gray donkey and a year's worth of leavened bread.