His Stuff

Junk: garbage to some, treasure to others, clutter at best, navigational obstacle on flooring, the cause of falls and injury…

Antonio learned firsthand. The architect of his own disaster, he sat idly on an easy chair, arm in cast, pondering what to do with all his stuff.

Quite unexpectedly a lightbulb lit up his mind, showing him the way. Creativity reawakened. His heart warmed with new purpose. He sprung to work.

Praises from the artistic community accelerated his mission. Photos of his unique collages went viral. He was crowned ‘artist extraordinaire’.

…all because of the ‘junk’ in his humble abode.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Flying Dancers

She dances with the leaves on this late autumn night. They rise, fall, crackle, swoop back into the air, without reflection about their falls. No signs of injury. No self-pity.

She envies the leaves. They can fly from words.

Too artistic, dark, can’t you be happy? Go to this party. Go to that party with your father. Stand straight, watch your gait. Smile. Writing’s a waste of time.

The words float in her mind like sickly alphabet cereal. But another curtain of leaves showers her. She twirls, the leaves dancing with her, sky and street opening wider than ever before.

From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. His work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, and Ariel Chart, among others.

The Walkers

We have walked about 30,000 miles together. That’s more than once around the circumference of the earth. On clear mornings a sliver moon greets us. Autumn brings magic. From summer’s green comes a cacophony of color. Winter evenings are deeply dark. Light the torch to check the footing.

“Hey, you’re the walkers.” Our neighbors cheer. “Are you married?”

“Almost forty-five years...to each other. We’ve had many stumbles, a few un-calamitous falls but always get back up.”

“So what do you talk about?” A few have asked this. We communicate in silence. Each small step a giant leap for matrimony.

From Guest Contributor Sam Brody