First Time

I have waited for this moment since childhood. Now as an adult in my car with the engine running, I’m thinking of excuses to put my foot to the accelerator.

I remove my sunglasses and shut the radio in the middle of “You are the Wind Beneath My Wings,” and turn the car off. This song brings back memories of my wedding. I wish Melinda were still alive.

As I approach the porch and knock on the door, I hear footsteps stomping down the stairs.

Would it be my mother or father who’d I’d be meeting for the first time?

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

She's Already Made Up Her Mind

She's already made up her mind.

Howard doesn't see it. He tries bargaining, apologizing (without ever saying the words I'm sorry), pleading. When that fails, out come the threats, the fits of anger, the hints at suicide. He thinks about hitting her, because it's just so unfair, but he throws his phone agains the wall instead.

It's worse that she doesn't get angry at his anger. She's quiet. Resolute.

He tries convincing her he'll be better. But his apologies are just excuses. He still refuses to say he's sorry, wouldn't matter if he did.

She's already made up her mind.

Understaffed

“I’m sorry, Number Six,” Death said to his probationary assistant, “but I’m going to have to let you go. Even though business is booming, and I need all the help I can get, you’ve just made too many mistakes. You’ve ended the lives of three people who were not supposed to die...just this week!”

“Bu...but,” Six stammered. “It wasn’t my fault. The paperwork was mixed up on one and the GPS wasn’t working on the others. Plus, all the overtime and...”

“Enough!” Death barked. “No excuses! There is just no place in this organization for a Dim Reaper!” From Guest Contributor Lee Hammerschmidt

Lee is a Visual Artist/Writer/Troubadour who lives in Oregon. He is the author of the short story collections, A Hole Of My Own and It’s Noir O’clock Somewhere. Check out his hit parade on YouTube!

Everything Will Be Perfect

She exclaims into the camera with twice as much enthusiasm. Smiling at herself, she admires her smoky eyeliner, sleek black cat frames, and her hair’s feathered highlights, with its slight curl held in place with a butterfly barrette. Hard to believe she’s afraid of losing her upper hand— her grip that keeps the focus on her. Even though, she knows she has run out of excuses to stay home. She's just worried sick about everyone. So, she must make do with sharp sound bites, while her inner voice bounces like a loose tin can, tumbling down another dark side street.From Guest Contributor M.J. Iuppa

M.J.’s 100-word stories have appeared most recently in 100 Word Story, Eunoia Review, Milk Candy Review, Otoliths, PIF Magazine, The Drabble Review, The Dribble Drabble Review, A Story in 100 Words, and others. For the past 33 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.

Nothing To Spare

Yours? Mine? Arguments. Ideologies differ. Attempt to build bridge between us. Links missing. Structure collapses. Earth? Water? No collaboration. Excuses made. Stubbornness. Misunderstandings. Light? Dark? We try meeting at middle ground. Concluding we can't agree. Not in thought, time or space. Coffee's gone cold. I mind. He doesn't. Ketchup smeared on fridge door. I wipe off. Mustard appears. Grass is greener over there, he says. I don't care. I prefer wildflowers. He repaints the scene with concrete. I'm younger, by two years exact. Can hardly wait for... Brother leaves for college. Forgets his toothbrush. I throw it into his room.From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

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