While At AL'S Counter

“Otto, look at that.”

Stan and Otto were at AL'S DINER, side by side at the uneven linoleum counter. Stan pointed with his spoon.

“Is that a fly in my soup?”

Both studied the chipped bowl and the small thing squirming in it.

“Seems more like an ant, Stan.”

“With wings?”

“Sure...Lots of ants have them. Is that the chicken soup?”

“No, clam chowder”

All soups looked alike at AL'S.

“Clam, huh?”

They stopped eating. Otto decided against dipping his fingers in the bowl to see.

“I'm pretty sure it's an ant, Stan...The flies don't seem to enjoy Al's chowder.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

A Diner Problem

Ralph and Rayette were at breakfast, with Ralph treating. He called the waiter over to their booth with its plywood table top.

“Is something the matter?”

“I'll say...Rayette, here, just saw another fly by her oatmeal."

Ralph had the eggs, and Rayette the oatmeal.

“What kind of place is this that has so many flies?”

“Many? What’d you mean by ‘many’?”

Rayette said she saw about five, maybe six of them.

Dismissively the waiter frowned.

“Six? You think six flies is a lot? You should see the number of ‘em in the kitchen...Especially around the pot of oatmeal.”From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Ed's Choice

“If you were a fly, Ed...”

“What'd you mean, a fly?”

“I'm just asking.”

They were at AL'S DINER. The waitress had not yet taken their orders. Ed knew his flies. That's why Mel asked.

“So, if you were a fly, would you go for the scrambled eggs or Al's oatmeal?”

“A fly, huh, Mel?”

“Yeah… Just a regular house fly.”

“Well, I guess the eggs. Now, of course, a horse fly...That might be different.”

“Nah...I'm only interested in regular flies, Ed. I don't see that many horse flies, compared to the usual house flies, in here today.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Standing On The Edge Of The Between

The portal calls to me in the songs of ancient gods, but my feet are mired in the ordinary, the necessary, the mundane. The music pulls me forward until I feel as if I shall break into two pieces—leaving only half of me to enter the world that is next.

The melody shifts in key, and I am beckoned not to walk, but to rise. I understand that I do not need these frozen feet. I spread my arms to the future, and I streak upward. My boots remain in the mud, but I am whole. I can fly.

From Guest Contributor Karen Burton.

Karen is an MFA student at Lindenwood University in St. Charles, MO.

Fantasy Realm

From a young age, Donald preferred the life of his imagination to the doldrums of the real world. He concocted fantasies that transcended the bounds of his normal life, dreams that promised the fulfillment of wishes he barely dared to comprehend.

In his fantasy world, Donald was no longer trapped in the circumstances of his birth. He had the freedom to literally fly to distant lands and make choices for himself instead of being dictated to.

It was always with bitter regret that Donald abandoned those visions and was forced to return to his life as the King of Scotland.