Isolated

House manager Morgan came into my room. He sniffed the air and looked disapproving.

“Mrs Towne,” he began, “The Cobra Committee has issued an edict that there are to be no more visitors.”

I didn't mind. Old age had already picked off my friends and family like a sniper.

“And you cannot go out,” he added. “You'll just have to wait here until you die.”

He smiled to show it was a joke. Hilarious. I was truly isolated now. The other residents were deaf or dumb or their brain was out to lunch, or all three.

Then the telephone rang.

From Guest Contributor Derek McMillan

Derek is the writer of "Murder from Beyond the Grave" available on eBay.

Relativists

A twin, jealous of her sister’s looks, sends her into outer space.

-The joke’s on you, says their mother. She will return younger than you. And, she’ll look even better.

Doesn’t she know time is an illusion? Then again, she believes the sun rises and sets.

-She knows an illusion when she sees it, says the mother. She’s always been the smart one.

The mother glances down at her watch. It runs more slowly when in motion, treating time like taffy: the greater the pull, the more it stretches.

-Gravity, she seethes.

You always liked her better, says the twin.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell

Cheryl's recent fiction has appeared in Switch, Does It Have Pockets? Gone Lawn, Necessary Fiction, Pure Slush, and elsewhere.

Written Florida

The hospital counter balanced the consequences of Chloe’s belief in radiological.

“Poise Samuel. It’s dosage and daydreaming. Don’t slam this shut, there’s no ambush in it.”

Samuel’s reptilian wheelchair spontaneously defended his ego with a damp pelvis moan.

“You need to explore your obsession with maintaining haste.”

And then Chloe was behind him, creating an exit.

Outside the gravity of habit drew dated windows and naked brick into Samuel’s response.

“Chloe, you are the answer to a whistle.”

Her blouse threw out naked holes of laughter until the urban inside her tongue finished the joke.

“But you have no teeth.”

From Guest Contributor Geoffrey Miller

Clever

Sydney prides herself on her cleverness. Her teachers and prospective lovers (usually different) always commented it was her most identifiable trait.

So it's frustrating when this critical character component fails to impress. Like when she explains to the traffic cop that coming to a complete stop was both unnecessary and a waste of fuel, and she's doing everyone a service.

Or when she told Ian that kissing her boss simply made her appreciate Ian more as a boyfriend.

Neither did he laugh at her joke about the dog dropping his bouquet of white flowers to bark at its own reflection.

She Would Be Worried

Sometimes, words were just not enough. She took

snapshots daily— her plated meals of living alone.

No explanation of how these fresh organic tastes

styled homespun comfort, like an old friend who

knew how to sit across from her and not say any-

thing, and waited until the meal’s dialog was lost in

a twitchy laugh; always with an index finger raised

to red lips to snuff out the danger of being intimate.

She liked the idea of having company; but didn’t

want to show anyone where she truly lived. Pst—

pst, pst— this secret joke exploded in her head.

From Guest Contributor M.J.Iuppa

M.J. Iuppa’s fourth poetry collection is This Thirst (Kelsay Books, 2017). For the past 32 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.

Strange Sounds

A year ago it started like a joke. We were laying on our flat mattress together. Innocent. We were children.

Amadi was my brother, I was twelve. It came one night when we watched Mama and Papa do things underneath their sheets while she made strange sounds like she was in pain. When I slept that night, I felt it. Amadi took off my pants and put his thing inside of me. There was a pain like it was a needle, only there was breaking and entering, a salted liquid, and nine months later a child was on my breasts.

From Guest Contributor Oghenemudia Emmanuel

Underground

Gwen spotted us together in the subway. We were standing talking, and she walked up to us. She looked at me awkwardly fidgeting with her ring, while I stammered an apology. An apology for what; we just met by accident. Nothing happened, I promise.

“You two sure look like a cute couple,” she said, her voice full of self-pity.

Why won’t she listen?

“Busted,” you laughed; big joke.

“It’s not like that, we’re not back together,” I said, not after what you put me through last time.

No one believed me, not even myself; but it’s still not my fault.

From Guest Contributor David Rae

How To Succeed In Business

Stephen had run out of work nearly an hour past and so resorted to tidying his inbox and creating email filters that would almost certainly remain unused after tonight. He thought about brewing another pot of coffee, but the late hour warned him against any more caffeine.

Stephen perked up when he saw the light go out in Mr. Campbell's office. He scrambled for his bag and coat, flipped off his computer, and almost ran for the elevator. He had a clever joke picked out already.

Mr. Campbell hated these encounters. Tomorrow he would call HR and have Stephen fired.

Forgetfulness

Scratching his head, the man struggled to remember where he’d seen her. He felt that he should know her! The look of concern on her face disturbed him, often others came with her, although they seemed distant. He liked the company even though he did not recognize them. Sometimes they would raise a fuss over him. The little ones pleased him most, climbing up on him, laughing, full of life. He always had a good sense of humor, but never telling the same joke twice, or always meeting new people. That’s about as far as his humor went concerning dementia!

From Guest Contributor Derrick Fernie

The Glue

Victor Coolidge often referred to himself as the glue that held the city together (the joke being the reason he was so obese was that a city of one billion people needed a lot of glue). In the end, he was the snag that lead to the city coming apart at the seams.

When he told his media friends that Georgi was the infant predator, they seized on the story. A manhunt began. Top-levels began dying in the vents. The riots spread to the sewers and the ground levels.

Georgi became the eye of the hurricane that finally destroyed Colossopolis.

Part 5

This is the treatment for a sci-fi novella. I think it's definitely worthy of more than the 100-word treatment. Let me know what you think!