Holes

A court decision of forced eviction awaited him on the table. A huge hole sudenly gaped where his intestines often knotted and his stomach spasmed. He found himself in the no-man's house he had once called home. And there is another new and bigger hole: where until a few moments ago the heart beat arrhythmically. “I need to sit down,” said the man who had no more legs at all. He stared at that thing that was still broadcasting a programme. A smile shone on his face. Through the hole in the skull flickered the healing glow of TV screen.

From Guest Contributor Ivan Ristic

Drunk

First, there's a moment when you are just crossing the threshold from complete oblivion, wrapped in blankets and darkness, to reemerge into the light of the living. You are not a person yet. You have no recollections or anxieties. This is probably what it was like right before you were born.

You don't realize you have a hole in your memory until you're halfway to the bathroom. How did you get home last night? Where's your car? Why is the floor slanting away from you?

You stare at yourself in the mirror and promise you're never going to drink again.

Speaking From Beyond

The spirit spoke.

“Water is wetting my house.” Trevor woke up from his dream puzzled. He wondered what his dead aunt was trying to tell him from beyond the grave. He waited for the sun to rise and then rushed down to her burial spot to investigate.

Examining the sepulcher, he saw a gaping hole in the roof of the structure and as he looked down he could see the coffin below. He took out some cement and sand he had in his car trunk and sealed off the spot.

“Ok,” he said, “That was what the dream was about."

From Guest Contributor Dennis Williams

Dennis is an emerging poet/writer from Sandy Hill, St. Catherine, Jamaica. His writings have been published in agape Review, the American Diversity Report (ADR), Alchemy spoon issue #7, the Health line Zine #1, the independent literary magazine Adelaide #54, EgoPHobia # 74, and the livina press issue # 3, Blue Pepper Magazine.

The Journey

She crawls up the streambank to the edge of the road to carry out her innate mission. Now in the twelfth year of her life, she’s made the trip six times before, but the litter gets worse every year. On her way to the roadside, she moves past another snapping turtle hopelessly tangled in clear fishing line. Discarded beer cans and bottles keep getting in her way. She claws away sand and starts laying eggs. Fifty white eggs are guided into the hole and covered, only to be abandoned; in ninety days, the turtle hatchlings will be on their own.

From Guest Contributor N.T. Franklin

NT Franklin has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, CafeLit, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, among others.

Waiting

The mud on my face sticks to me from the heat of the sun, and I’m cramped in a hole waiting.

The sound of ammunition and men screaming is deafening. I reach in my pocket and take out the picture of my wife. She’s so beautiful. I close my eyes and envision myself stroking her long black hair and kissing her luscious lips. I miss her so much, it aches. I promised I’d make it back, but I know that could be a lie. No one knows what will happen in this damn war.

And so, I sit and wait.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Mammoth

An airplane soars into the mammoth building, leaving a gaping hole. Blackness, dust, and papers fill the air.

Angels fall and my heart beats quickly not knowing what to do. I pace the floor with the others, stunned, quiet, unable not to watch. The sirens pierce our ears, and we stare at one another.

The phones ring with panicking family members crying that a second plane has crashed into the other building. I drop the phone when the fire drill alarms. The sky darkens and we head to the staircase not knowing our fate.

The World Trade Center is no more.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Apple Jenga

Pyramids of fruit abound in the market’s produce section.

A man pokes and squeezes to find the perfect Gala. Five tiers down, he locates a winner, and the Jenga game begins.

He shapes his hand into a “C,” then moves in slowly to extract the prize, leaving a hole in the pyramid where the apple once was.

Standing a little taller, he raises his chin and puffs up his chest.

One aisle over, he sees a woman arch her back and hold her shoulders high. Next to her, three holes exist in the Golden Delicious pile.

He’s met his match.

From Guest Contributor Jennifer Lai

The Walking Dead

Thinking about escaping across closed borders, I dug a hole outside. It was hard work. I pulled out bricks, barbed wire, glass bottles and jars, and old cans as I dug deeper. When my mind drifted too far into sadness, I stopped. Everything moves slowly now. I’m learning to be very stingy with supplies. On the table is a bunch of flowers I found in the trash. This may be a day for catching up on The Walking Dead, but I stand at a window that looks out on a yard. Somehow, just standing there feels like a hopeful gesture.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie Good is the author of What It Is and How to Use It (2019) from Grey Book Press, among other poetry collections.

Head Held High

Amira’s mother quickly pulled the floorboard out, placed her daughter in the hole, shut it, then heard a loud bang. They kicked in the door.

“I knew we’d find a Jew here. Where are the others?”

Anita held her head high. “There are no others. Only me.”

“Take her.”

Amira’s body trembled as she listened to the footsteps and voices above.

“No, I won’t let you take me,” Anita struggled to break free and was shot. She dropped to the floor and whispered her daughter’s name.

Amira held back tears as the Nazi’s laughs and footsteps faded from her ears.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Teed Off

When Matt Dobson teed off for the tenth hole, he drilled Brian Witherspoon, who weighs about 350, as he bent over to pick up what he thought was a quarter but turned out to be a gum wrapper.

“Well damn,” Brian yelled, “Dobson’s ball hit me square in the ass!”

Everyone got real quiet and we thought a situation might develop, but Lawson jumped off the bench and yelled, “Oh come on, he missed your asshole by five inches.”

Then everyone started laughing and so Brian walked over and shook Dobson’s hand and we all got on with our game.

From Guest Contributor Andrew Miller

Andrew retired from a career that included university teaching and research. Now he has time to pursue his long-held interest in creative writing. Check out some of his publications at: http://www.andrewcmiller.com/