Lost In Space

It is a sweltering summer evening, and Dad bursts through the back screen door, home early from work, carrying a paper bag stuffed with green frilly leaves. “Look,” he beams unpacking the strange-looking vegetable. “Something new. It’s called Romaine lettuce.” He tears off a long tapered leaf and glides it over my upturned hand. “Try it,” he grins. “It flies—like a supersonic r-r-rocket!”

It is the age of Sputnik, Explorer, ballistic missiles and orbital launchers, and we kids are all enthralled. I bite into the crisp, tall leaf, savor the pleasantly cool, exhilarating blast and I am riding high.

From Guest Contributor E. C. Traganas

Lake

The cool lake soothed my warm feet. It was a stifling day and the sun beat on my neck. Trickles of perspiration dripped down my back as I watched people pass by in row boats waving their hands fanning themselves as if that would break the heat. Some were prepared with water in toe and shading.

There wasn’t a light breeze or cloud in the sky, just complete aridity. I didn’t care. The water always gave me respite and I needed it today before going home.

I wanted to enjoy the moment before telling my wife I lost my job.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Frontier

The steep hills and rugged terrain bordered the frontier. Untamed wildlife lay ahead as I stepped into the wilderness on my hunt for food. I promised my wife we’d make a good home. It’s difficult at times, but we managed.

I heard an ominous sound nearby; crunching branches. I turned and pointed my rifle. Before me stood a grizzly bear at least ten feet tall. He growled and started toward me. I pulled the trigger and he fell into a heap. He let out his last breath and stilled.

He was protecting his home; I couldn’t fault him for that.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

For the prompt Frontier

Long Enough

David kept asking, “Whose funeral is it?”

His daughter replied, “Mom's.”

Minutes later he said, “Whose funeral is it?”

“Mom's.” Each reply earned the same quiet nod.

When the service ended, mourners drifted away. David stepped beside the casket. He slipped off his wedding band. “You'll need this,” he whispered to the casket. “Take good care of it.”

The daughter blinked back tears.

He smiled faintly, patted the casket, and walked on. Halfway down the path, he stopped. “Whose funeral is it?”

His daughter slipped her arm through his, and they walked slowly toward home beneath silent autumn trees together.

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes

E. Barnes has work published at A Story In 100 Words, Spillwords, The Purple Pen, The Haven, and Medium.

Back From The Correctional Facility

“I took the letters you sent, Ralph, and made them into a book.”

“A book? Or a manuscript, Claudette?”

After six months at the correctional facility, Ralph was finally home.

“Did you like them, Claudette?”

“I guess it's the thought that counts. I couldn't always get your spelling. Sometimes you were in a bad mood.”

“It was food…I kept writing for food.”

He was allowed only a pencil and paper.

“That's great, Claudette. You made a manuscript, and you were faithful to me the whole time.”

“Well, I wouldn't go that far.”

“You mean...You didn't make a manuscript?”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

For the prompt Manuscript and Letter

Safari

I couldn’t believe I was in Africa on a safari and that my dream came to fruition.

My guide points to the giraffes in the field; their long necks and legs were ominous to other smaller animals.

The elephants led their young and stayed nearby. It was astonishing seeing them up close, the males’ prominent ivory tusks digging the soil as their young squeaked.

The heat in Africa was unbearable, so I sipped my bottled water to stay hydrated in awe of my surroundings.

The tour ended and I was back at my hotel.

Tomorrow, my flight home to reality.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Fade

The village of Walter's Blessing has been abandoned for more than two decades, ever since The Fade.

No one talks about The Fade. Occasionally, out-of-towners in the vicinity will visit with all kinds of stories, asking about what really happened. The locals know to keep their mouths shut.

The truth about The Fade is too awful to contemplate. Not only because no town should have to suffer what Walter's Blessing suffered. What is truly frightening is that the same thing is happening to hamlets, townships, and settlements all over the country. If you aren't careful, your home might be next.

Unfinished Business

I returned from the dead, a list in my pocket: wrongs to right, pleasures to reclaim, truths to confess, sins to own. Mostly I needed to know how the world had fared without me. Apart from my poor mother, a grieving ghost of her former self, it was as if I’d never lived. Never loved. Never mattered. A stranger slept in my bed, alongside my darling wife, in my home, the one I’d slaved to pay for, my manicured garden now wildly overgrown. I fed the list to the fire. I’d start over from the very beginning, wherever that was.

From Guest Contributor Elizabeth Murphy

The Steward

Rebecca and I drove up the long gravel way until it crested a small ridge and our new home came into view. She sucked in her breath, shocked by the magnificence of the old mansion.

"I haven't been here in thirty years. Nothing's changed."

She squeezed my hand, in excitement or perhaps disbelief. The estate belonged to my grandfather, then my uncle, and now me, a string of unfortunate deaths leaving me the only heir.

My anticipation ceased when I saw Bidwell waiting to greet us.

"What's wrong?"

"The steward. He died in the same accident that killed my uncle."

Accident

The cars came to a halt, and sirens blared. I wondered how bad the accident was. I couldn’t see anything other than flashing red and white lights and I hoped no one was killed. I called my wife, but the connection was bad. I managed to tell her I’d be late due to traffic.

The sun shifted and it was blinding so I pulled my visor down.

After an hour the traffic let up. Ambulances and stretchers were on the scene of the accident.

I said a silent prayer and drove on, anxious to get home and kiss my wife.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher