Endurance

When Henrik asks me to hide his wife and son, I don’t hesitate.

Every day, I bring food and water to the sewer where I’ve hidden them. I feel it’s safer than hiding them in my house when the Nazis show no boundaries in searching homes.

Unfortunately, it’s not the accommodation I hoped for, but Henrik and his family are grateful. The resistance has brought more people into the hiding space and so they are no longer alone.

It saddens me, but I fight along with my comrades for a better life in our country.

And so, we all endure.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

ARP

I joined the Air Raid Precautions as a warden, ready to serve. I never imagined the danger.

The blackout began, and my eyes adjusted to the darkness. My partner George and I walked the streets and spoke frivolous chit chat when a bomb struck nearby.

We followed the screams into the chaos. Homes and businesses laid in a heap and bystanders wept as they picked up whatever was left of their belongings.

We searched the rubble and found no survivors.

I returned home, fell into bed, and dreamt of my childhood, a happy, peaceful time when there was no war.From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Lisa has been writing since 2010 and has had many micro-flash fiction stories published. In 2018 her book Shorts for the Short Story Enthusiasts, was published and The Importance of Being Short, in 2019. Her most recent book In A Flash, was published in the spring of 2022.

A New Era

Robots Contest Entry:

One day everything stopped. I remember the terrible silence that followed the constant humming we were used to. Our beloved machines were made redundant, years of technological progress erased in an instant. We had become lazy and were set back decades. Over half the population couldn’t drive, (car accidents skyrocketed), people went hungry, (they had forgotten how to cook) and some left their homes for the first time in years. Then scientists said they found the cause, a virus, and soon the machines were back online. But the new hum sounded wrong, like a swarm of bees waiting to attack.

From Guest Contributor Paula Henry-Duru

Rain

Music is flowing around me, thought a little flower bud as it shyly opened its dewy new petals. A quiet, peaceful melody of streams of gray pouring from a cloudy sky, framed by cooling rhythm of beads of water hitting cement nearby, thrumming on rooftops of homes around its garden, drumming against wooden walls, staccato taps on glass panes. Wavering patterns of drizzle and downpour, whispers of gentle wind through branches of trees, and drips from pools of water on lush green leaves, add a dulcet cadence, forming a tender harmony to welcome this year’s refreshing renewal of mother nature.From Guest Contributor Sara Light

Sara lives in Chicago and writes poetry, fiction, and children's stories. In her spare time, she likes to paint and read. Find her on twitter @SaraLight19, and on her website, saralight.blog.

Jack’s Undoing

HUBRIS CONTEST

Jack had it all: six luxurious homes, expensive cars, a private plane, and a trophy wife. Like many trust-fund babies, he had grown up with few responsibilities and many advantages, including a degree from Yale. Unfortunately, for Jack, he did not grow up with a sense of ethics or basic moral values.

The FBI stormed through the front door of his New York apartment at six in the morning.“We have a warrant for your arrest. The charge is transporting wealthy, inadmissible aliens into the USA.”

Jack rolled his eyes. Don’t these people realize my connections? He called his lawyer.

From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius

The Homes Of Birds (Nature Contest Winner)

I'm very excited to present the winner of our Nature Flash Fiction Contest, from regular contributor Brook Bhagat. Someone might look at the strange format and say it's more of a poem than a short story, but my favorite poems are the ones that tell a story as well. Plus I liked it so this is the one I'm choosing. Congratulations Brook! And thanks to everyone who participated. A lot of great stories.

I understand the funeral I have the address the dress the time

it begins with smiling cameras and ends with paper tablecloths, cold cuts and deviled eggs downstairs

even worse is the sunshine, all those empty minutes left

I would have lost it

if not

For the hike, still in our black together,you and Ben, the boy,me and my sister arm in armdown the easy path atGarden of the Gods,

lighter than before, noticing the homesof birds in the rocks and rememberingwe are just a moment, fragmentsof a mystery that flies and sings.

From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat

Brook’s poetry, fiction, non-fiction, and humor have appeared in Monkeybicycle, Empty Mirror Magazine, Harbinger Asylum, Little India, Rat's Ass Review, Lotus-Eater Magazine, Anthem: A Tribute to Leonard Cohen, and other journals and anthologies. She and her husband Gaurav created Blue Planet Journal, which she edits and writes for. She holds an MFA from Lindenwood University, teaches creative writing at a community college, and is writing a novel. Her poetry collection, Only Flying, is due out Nov. 16, 2021 from Unsolicited Press. See more at brook-bhagat.com or reach her on Twitter at @BrookBhagat.

Stay tuned for an announcement soon about our next contest!

Abandoned Doctrines

It had been deserted for far too long. All it took was a little black and white and the first brave soul came venturing in. That was the spark required. Many from far and wide, of different colours, proportions and voices came flying in. The place now housed so many flying entities. Remember when it once only contained the shackled soul of a socially dictated purpose her father had nurtured with care and her mother with ignorance. They say knowledge spreads like wildfire, the unabating hunger that can infect one and all, forcing people to abandon homes, doctrines and conventions.

From Guest Contributor Ronit Mukherji

Burning Uncertainty

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

My elder sister Tanya and I burn portraits of Nicholas, watching his solemn eyes melting. Melting, melting. Flames envelop his beard, rising into the night sky.

“To the Revolution,” she proclaims. “We’ll be happy again.”

“To happiness,” I proclaim. I hug Tanya. She smells of sweat and oil and victory.

I wonder what will come next. We’ve lost homes and positions, slaved in Siberia. She was a teacher and I, a writer. Those positions are in the past, though.

Will we be of use? Or will the Revolution brand us too bourgeois?

I wish the picture wouldn’t burn so fast.From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, 50 Word Stories, (mac)ro (mic), and Ariel Chart.

This Message Cannot Be Delivered

Old friends’ emails become inactive, enveloped by electronic monsters. My message cannot be delivered, electronic gatekeepers proclaim.

I can’t tell them of being alone. I can’t hear their off-color jokes about paraplegics and suicide, youth at its most delightfully stupid. Tell them of empty, sterile walls. I can’t confess I absorbed their stories of family, an electronic voyeur.

I keep trying. Messages come back.

I drive to distant homes. But staring through lit windows, I feel like a magazine, an obnoxious knickknack among order and precision. I imagine them discarding jokes, smiles replaced by starched replicas.

This message isn’t delivered.

From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. His story, "Soon," was nominated for a Pushcart. Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, 50 Word Stories, (mac)ro (mic), and Ariel Chart.

The Clock Tower

The clock tower, situated in the center of the town square, afforded views of the entire valley. No shadow could hide from its rapacious stare.

Townspeople went about their business quietly, all eyes on the ground, hoping to avoid unwanted attention.

Rebecca and Victor met in the churchyard green. They'd yearned for each other since youth, but had never managed to share even kiss. Now might be that moment.

Time stopped. The entire town froze.

When the clock resumed, Rebecca and Victor, despite being certifiably sober, returned to their homes after once again awakening from a stupor under mysterious circumstance.