Sweetest Decline

Autumn evenings hit different. You know the season because of how the air cools your sun-burnt skin, and you crave melting into the breeze. Insect music dances across the same wind as your smile. The scent of decay tantalizes with its promise of the most peaceful hibernation. Surrounded by abundance, knowing there's more than you can ever hope to enjoy.

Smile. You have friends to share it with.

I fall asleep, a big spoon in a drawer with just enough silverware for a single meal. Remember to wash it after every use and one spoon is enough to last a lifetime.

The Broken Rose

Scott retraces the events of that evening to understand what went wrong. Candles were lit. Dinner reservations at Jen's favorite restaurant. A dozen red roses.

The evening now over, all his plans in ruins, trying to lay blame seems besides the point. Telling himself that he was innocent of any wrongdoing doesn't change the fact that not only has his girlfriend of exactly five years walked out on him forever, but has also resulted in his house being destroyed and his car being driven over a cliff.

A single broken rose is all he has left to remember her by.

Funky

There was something funky about the way no one noticed as he walked the sidewalk.

The gentleman picking out fruit at the corner stand. The woman walking her dog towards him. The delivery man checking over the boxes in back of his truck. Never mind it was ten in the evening.

Not one person glanced in his direction.

He stopped at the newsstand, looked over the headlines, asked about the impending strike at the local paper. The vendor grunted noncommittally.

He fished into his pocket, as if looking for change, and drew in one smooth motion.

Everyone reacted at once.

Rain

After evensong, her steps are soft on the stairs, and I will denounce these risers with their dips in the middle; it’s been centuries; couldn’t they be repaired now, o ye archbishops? Through the light-coloured thin-glass panes, I can see the skies darkening: how am I supposed to get her home in a storm, my newly blind friend with her damnable tumour? We will be like those lost old farts in the wilderness. My friend shifts her foot towards a stair, seeking. Let the rain fall gently on us, I think; let it fall like a hymn sung in evening.

From Guest Contributor Colleen Addison

Elegantly Wasted

Tom was an alcoholic. First thing every morning he made himself an extremely dry martini: straight gin, but in a martini glass to feel classy. In the evening, he put on a tuxedo and drank champagne. Not sparkling wine. The French stuff.

Tom worked downtown. He took long lunches at the club and came back to the office smelling of mint and tangerine. He was a partner, so no one ever complained. Not to his face.

Tom considered himself a functioning alcoholic.

His ex-wife and her phalanx of lawyers considered Tom a threat to harm himself and those around him.

Hermitage

Harvest missed, starlings busy with unworked seed, overripe corn, a laugh with the scarecrow - leave toward evening. Leaves of fall turn red like the blood fingering across the green linoleum kitchen floor after the thud of the back of your head, split like a too-ripe pumpkin. A widower falls in the kitchen, no one hears it, did it make a sound? The trees in the yard mourn the wood you stacked anticipating winter, as it dries, rots, quietly decays. Equinoxes later it splinters, skips off across tan, fallow fields in a cold wind, wet with the rustle of black wings.

From Guest Contributor Craig Kirchner

Craig thinks of poetry as hobo art. He loves storytelling and the aesthetics of the paper and pen. He was nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize, and has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels. After a writing hiatus is being published and has work forthcoming in a dozen or so journals.

The Sneeze

Otto couldn't stifle it. Did he want to sneeze all over Felice? No. But he did. And here he'd planned for a pleasant evening at the small BYOB Italian restaurant.

"God bless you, Otto," offered Felice as she grabbed her napkin."WHAT'RE YOU TALKING ABOUT!" It was a deep voice from above. Loud enough to shake the table.

Again, Otto sneezed. His nose was running now, but things weren't running well with Felice. And he'd brought a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

"God bless you, Otto," said Felice again, politely.

"NO WAY I'M BLESSING OTTO!" boomed the terrifying voice. "NOT OTTO!"

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

The Miqui Smart Home Device

When Blake brought Miqui home that first evening, he spent hours translating the instructions into a form of English he could understand. Miqui had evolved a language much more sophisticated than his own outdated vernacular.

By the next Tuesday, Miqui was finally in working order. It immediately diagnosed him with cancer. His was a milder variety. Six months to live.

Miqui is Blake's only company these days, other than the nurses. He remembers when fish still weren't able to talk. The fish said it was worthwhile he could still recall the good old days. Nostalgia is a uniquely human trait.

As A River Runs Cold

When the sun finally set that evening, it was as if someone was turning off a faucet. The water ran clear and cold, then stopped running altogether, leaving behind a long, jagged-edged stain on the pavement that slowly grew into a pool of blood on the street below, like a wound left open too long, growing wider.

Clouds pressed down hard against the earth while the sky darkened. The townspeople began dying in great numbers. The river never once turned red with the blood that flowed through its banks. Nothing could change the truth of who and what I'd become.From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Sea Angel

Silvia, sound asleep, pleasantly dreamed of the beach, her solace.

She relished the sound of the ocean splashing against the dock, and the warm breeze against her face, when a beautiful image ascended from the water. A lovely sea angel flapped its white wings, and a halo gleamed above her head. The glowing angel approached Silvia and told her she would be her protector, then placed her translucent hand on Silvia’s forehead.

Silvia awakened calmed and ready to start her day. She showered, dressed, and left for work.

When she returned that evening, a glimmering halo lay on her pillow.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher