The Pyramids

The new neighbors were installing an elevator in the three-story home on the corner. As soon as it was finished, they handed out tickets like we were going for a ride. When the doors opened, we stepped out into a blistering afternoon, where men were struggling with giant blocks of stone. Were they busy creating one of the ancient wonders of the world? It looked like we might be witnessing a miracle, but the air was stifling, thousands of years old. Wasn’t it time to go home and relax? Kick off our shoes, call an end to this crazy day?

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Under Watch

Armed agents conceal themselves in doorways and behind lampposts and newspapers. You just passed by one and didn’t even know you had. Time to electrocute your thinking. They’re paid to spy, and they spy on people like me – an old man walking a dog on a rope – who’ve done nothing wrong. I can’t sleep through the night for worry that they’re building a dossier against me by twisting something I said. Is it becoming a grass armchair? A black wall? A crying mirror? If it is, I’m finished. One day I’ll squeeze into a crowded elevator that’ll disappear between floors.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's latest collections are I'm Not a Robot from Tolsun Books and A Room at the Heartbreak Hotel from Analog Submissions Press. 

Colony Collapse

Hands full of bees, Alice screamed at the sky. Sitting in the grass, blades tickled her thighs. Bee by bee, Alice lined them up. “I’m sorry,” said the speaker at a funeral attended only by the dead.

Maybe she shouldn’t have quit work. Never built an apiary. Would’ve been better joining a gym. Cooking. Reading books that lived in corners of her home. Would’ve been better to speak what he said in the elevator, his voice curling green, twisting to lick her ears.

Alice lay down, tears falling into her hair. She didn’t want the bees to see her cry.

From Guest Contributor Michaela Papa

How To Succeed In Business

Stephen had run out of work nearly an hour past and so resorted to tidying his inbox and creating email filters that would almost certainly remain unused after tonight. He thought about brewing another pot of coffee, but the late hour warned him against any more caffeine.

Stephen perked up when he saw the light go out in Mr. Campbell's office. He scrambled for his bag and coat, flipped off his computer, and almost ran for the elevator. He had a clever joke picked out already.

Mr. Campbell hated these encounters. Tomorrow he would call HR and have Stephen fired.

We're All Learning

Back to school shopping.

Jennifer wanted pens and whiteout. Stevie picked a package of pink hangers. One by one, items landed in the shopping cart. Mother pushed. Around the big superstore they went. Cart three-quarters filled when they finished.

“Don’t they need new clothes?” grandmother asked anxiously.

“They don’t sell clothes here,” mother answered.

Grandmother frowned. “You should have another colour. Pink is for girls.”

“But I like pink,” Stevie answered.

Mother asked “why not” and turned her face the other way.

Where was I? In the elevator with the family, hearing their conversation as it unfolded to the public.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, and Espresso stories.

Ruby's Incontinence

“You’re such an asshole Chuck,” the back-braced senior citizen Ruby said as Chuck held the Stanford Medical Center elevator door open for her with one arm, balancing seven incontinence pads in his left.

Chuck smiled and pushed floor one.

“We’re parked in the basement you idiot.”

“I knew that, dear. I wanted to show you every floor so I’d get my money’s worth. $75,000 to fix a damned hernia.”

“You’d rather I be in pain, jerk?”

“Hmm… tough question.”

“Proves my point.”

“I love you enough to tolerate your usual grumpiness at the hospital.”

“Of course you do. You would.”

From Guest Contributor Jay Paul

A Stubborn Speck

The elevator doors close with a ding. Alone inside, she hums and checks the mirror. The speck on her cheek looks unsightly, like a coal mine bent forward and kissed her.

She pulls out a tissue from her bag, and dabs at it. No luck. Nagging speck, like someone spit tar on to her face. Two more tissues, nothing.

The skin around it is reddening. Three more tissues, one after another. She’s getting restless as her floor draws near.

The seventh tissue does the trick. Someone from behind was kind enough to hand it to her.

The elevator doors open.

From Guest Contributor, Indu Pillai

Indu is a commercial writer based in Bangalore. Her fiction has appeared in Mash Stories and 50-Word Stories. She delights in all kinds of stories, written and unwritten. Twitter: @InduPillai01