A Closed Time Curved Loop Time Traveler

As a closed time curved loop time traveler watched in horror at the death of mankind. He wondered. Was it always thus? A learning simulator bent on self-destruction? From one reality bounce to another, pray for peace. In the end, God wins all games. Why? In a Dyson Sphere or Solomon’s statement, there is nothing new under the sun. And that which the author of life has given, so he shall take. Multiple dimensions exist. And every twist and turn of the story of life is taken. What about the dreamers? Even their dreams come true somewhere within a simulator.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Some Games Are Not For Grown-Ups

Ten, nine, eight jumps to go. Nick meets my gaze. Seven, six, five, four.

Say it, Nick. Say it. Three.

“Irene.”

Grown-ups shouldn’t play alphabet games.

“Isa, come back. Letter I is so tricky.”

Grown-ups shouldn’t jump rope. It’s not good on the heartstrings.

I sat under a Jacaranda and tore the Valentine’s Day card. Nick and Isa 4 ever 2 gether littered my lap.

Grow up.

I dug into my hand bag, pulled out my diary and littered again. My lap brimming with lavender scented paper.

Grown-ups shouldn’t keep diaries. It’s not like I’m Anaïs Nin for goodness sake!

From Guest Contributor Isabelle B.L

Isabelle is a teacher based in France. She has published a novel inspired by the life of a New Caledonian feminist and politician. Her work can be found in the Best Microfiction 2022 anthology, Visual Verse, Free Flash Fiction and elsewhere.

Is This What You Thought Married Life Would Be Like?

“Is this what you thought married life would be like?”

The first time Ann asked me that was at a church wedding, with me holding our three-month-old as he filled his diaper. Excrement slowly seeped down into my suit jacket sleeve.

The question was always asked facetiously: Ann’s way of finding humor in challenging situations (little league games, parent-teacher conferences, prom night). It helped. We always smiled and, sometime later, laughed.

Now, married thirty-eight years, with grandkids and happily retired, she asks me again as we sit together at dinner.

Smiling, I answer, “Oh yes...even better than I thought.”From Guest Contributor Mike Nolan

Mike is a freelance writer living happily ever after in Port Angeles, WA, USA. Mike is the author of the forthcoming memoir My Second Education, and has a web presence at mikenolanstoryteller.com.

Dungeons Without Dragons

Old castles and dungeons. Wizards and dragons. Evil Orcs and bewitching princesses. And he above all, The Mighty Knight, the warrior chosen to save the world from eternal doom.

One flash of lucid light and here he is again, imprisoned in his own dungeon, in his dusty boy's room, remembering days playing tabletop fantasy games with friends and reading Tolkien, back in the time when he was just a teenager. Now he feels so old, lonely, and helpless. Not even a witch by his side, no magic spells to pay alimony, no more ideals worth fighting for.

Nothing but memories.

From Guest Contributor Ivan Ristic

She Looked On The Bright Side

“Going to the wedding, are you?” The SuperValu cashier jigged the question as the wiry woman with blowzy white hair fished coins from her purse for the crossword lotto cards lying on the counter. “Here you go, exactly.” She plunked the coins down and scooped up her cards. “Hope you’re a winner. Spelling games are my pet picks,” quipped the cashier. “Yes, I deserve a good spell; even though these daily lotto spoil everything. I’ll be back in a short bit to bet on today’s talk of the town. I have a hunch the odds are running in my favor.”

From Guest Contributor M.J. Iuppa

Our Orchard

We chased each other between rows of plum trees. Leafy boughs drooped with blossoms casting shadows in our tracks.

We kissed when we caught up. I sank into your embrace wishing you would never let go.

But you did. A high school classmate was more clever than I. Grabbed your vulnerability. Clawed at your masculinity. You found her sexy.

I’ve returned. Standing across the street from a playground where our orchard used to be. The fruit trees were gone except for one.

Boys played rough ball games. One on a bench looked like you.

Love no longer filled that space.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

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