Heart On Ice

I was driving like I always do, as if I were transporting a heart packed in ice for a patient in imminent danger of dying, when outside Springfield, Mass., a bird that was also in an exceptional hurry crashed into my windshield with the boom of a gunshot, startling me about as bad as I’ve ever been startled, but the strangest part was that there were no cracks in the glass, no blood splatter, no feathers caught in the wipers, nothing to see, just the greasy crayon colors of dusk smeared all around and the cold stretch of road ahead.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera: 99 100-word Prose Poems from Cajun Mutt Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.

Waves

He phoned to tell me I hadn’t returned his wave yesterday. Wondered why.

I apologized, explained how busy I was. Being in a hurry, mind on other things. When absorbed with a book, I would walk with my head down. (Hadn’t he noticed?) Feel its characters as they stride with me. My physical surroundings matter not.

There were other days too, he said.

It wasn’t my intention to appear unfriendly. I promised I’d lift my head more and make a point of looking out for my neighbor.

Days later, I saw him running across the street.

I waved.

He didn’t.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, and espresso stories.