Vegan Vigilantes

The joint was cased. All that remained was the decision: this coffeehouse or the Dunkin’ Donuts on the bypass?

Roland sauntered inside and scanned the menu--coffee and sandwiches--on the back wall.

“Can I help you?”

“Anything vegan?”

Bewildered: “Uh, vegan? Er...”

An older barista, working a blender: “Nothing vegan.”

Roland stepped back, leaned against the wall, phone to ear: “Mook, it’s the shop on Main. Even worse than Dunkin’. Pick me up in two minutes.”

He replaced the phone with a gun and approached the counter.

“Since your menu isn’t cruelty-free, I’ll take your money. Open the register.”From Guest Contributor Joe Surkiewicz

Joe writes from northern Vermont.

It Would Be The End Of Prohibition For Harry

HISTORICAL FICTION SUBMISSION:

Harry didn't know what the big deal was. Sure, alcohol was prohibited (it was called Prohibition after all) but it was readily available if you knew where to ask. Harry knew where to ask.

His favorite place to get a bottle was the jazz joint by the river, the one popular with the colored folk. As far as Harry was concerned, they had the best gin and the best music. There were plenty of white folks there too, but Harry did his best not to be seen.

If his Ma ever found out he was drinking on a school night...

From Guest Contributor Jesse Debbins

Four A.M. Flyby

Disease shrunk his body to nothingness; pain drew up his limbs, tightening his skin until not even his love for her could stave off time.

Finally, he spread his body wide in ecstasy, unfolding each joint, stretching parched skin that once pulsed strong with every heartbeat. With breath diminishing, he flexed each finger, arm, leg, until he was lifted up and out into the dawn.

Four friends awoke, soothed by the tender touch of a breeze kissing their brows. His soul passed; he whispered, “Goodbye, old and treasured friends.”

It was his leaving hour; it was his four a.m. flyby.

From Guest Contributor Karen Sallee