The Dean Of The Old School

Dad segues into another riveting anecdote with, “That’s not how we did things back in the day.”All three teenagers glaze over in unison. Closed. They nod if eye-checked for confirmation, but almost immediately they’re not listening. Their father is a bundle of clichés glued together with corn.

Had the kids been striving to understand, they could now know more about activities from back in the day than they know of current events. It seems Dad rides that tangent whenever possible.

Before the present era, everything was more superlative. Right kids? Whereas now it’s flat and probably made from plastics.

From Guest Contributor Todd Mercer

Todd writes fiction and poetry in Grand Rapids, Michigan. His collection Ingenue was published by Celery City Press. Recent work appears in Literary Yard, The Lake and the Michigan Bards Poetry Anthology.

Furry Friends

The park is filled with pets. It’s a hot summer day and I can feel the perspiration on my back. I come here every week to watch the dogs run and play, catching frisbees. It’s comical when one small dog grabs the frisbee and runs away under the tree when the owner is waiting.

You can see in the kids’ and parents’ faces, how their dogs make the family complete with their huge smiles, laughter and affection toward their hairy friends.

I didn’t realize the time. I must leave for an important appointment.

A new furry companion awaits my arrival.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Clown Show

Every night around 11pm, the television stations ran an entertainment program for adults, featuring all of the funniest clowns in the circus. They danced around and bashed each other on their heads and wore garish make up, all for our amusement. The show was so popular it got replayed on the cable stations all morning and afternoon. Many times they performed with trained chimps in human clothes that we found cute and funny, because they acted just like real people.

Then, one day, every adult in the country decided to stop watching. We finally realized that clowns are for kids.

Independence Day

It’s “Independence Day,” and I’m excited to see the fireworks show at the beach with my kids. I’ve packed a small picnic of chicken sandwiches and soda, nothing fancy and we’ll sit on the sand watching the sky light up. I want to make this day special for Charlie and Kenny since the divorce has been tough on them.

My youngest, Kenny, takes my hand and gives me a warm smile while Charlie is sitting cross legged waiting.

The sky bursts into red, green, blue and white and the look of joy on my boys’ faces is all I need.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Sunday Dinner At My House

I carry the steaming pot of paprikash to the table. It’s spicy and garlicky, and my mouth waters in anticipation.

“That looks amazing,” my sister says.

“You printed this?” My mother’s nose wrinkles, and she leans back in her chair.

“Of course,” I say as my sister shifts a bowl of buttered noodles. I set the pot down.

“You kids have it so easy. In my day, we had to chop our own vegetables and simmer the chicken for hours.”

My sister and I grin at each other, but my mother doesn’t notice. She’s already spooning food onto her plate.

From Guest Contributor Julia Rajagopalan

Good And Evil

Bradley wondered what was wrong with him. Other kids may have complained about working their chores, but they enjoyed eating bacon and hamburgers, and talked excitedly about weekend hunting trips.

Bradley didn't know anyone for whom slaughtering a cow prompted an existential crisis. There was no doubt he was the weird one in town, and his parents, his brothers and sisters, his classmates, even his teachers, all knew this to be true.

He simply couldn't shake the feeling that just because everyone else thought eating animals was normal, there was something inherently evil about it.

From the cow's perspective anyway.

School Day

First day at my new school. I wonder what the other kids will be like. I miss all of my friends from my old school; I hope I’ll find new friends here. My older sister Alice has it worse than me. She lost her steady boyfriend when we moved. Those guys down by the street might be interested in Alice; she was popular back at Edgeworth High. They look like they are the right age for her. Oh-oh, I’m going to be late if I don’t snap out of it and get going. School is a couple of miles away.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Spooky Girlfriend

My friends don't like my girlfriend. They say all the same stereotypical bullshit, mostly revolving around how she's crazy and I'm crazy to be dating her. I think they're just intimidated by an older woman.

I should say they are ex-friends, because I rarely see them anymore. I spend most of the time at my girlfriend's house. Who wouldn't want to? She lives in the old mansion at the top of the hill. The same house we used to say was haunted when we were kids.

It's not really haunted. You just have to get used to all the ghosts.

Ghosts

In front of the circus truck came a moving van and two old clunkers. People were finally moving into the house at the end of the cul-de-sac, which we’d all suspected was haunted. The circus truck double parked beside the moving van and out poured our old friends, the bearded lady and fortune teller, clutching his crystal ball, two sweet loveable clowns who rolled out smiling, somersaulting around the cul-de-sac. Soon our kids were busy taming the lions while the elephants practiced their counting and we gossiped about the new neighbors until one of them floated by and said hello.

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Pizza

Bill picked mushroom slices off the boxed pizza, grimacing, stacking them.

Sadie watched. “What’s wrong, Honeybun?”

“Mushrooms. They don’t belong on pizza. My ex-wife knew that. They’re like human ears.” Bill shuddered.

“Sorry!” Sadie sniffled, blue eyes pooling on her freckled face.

“Don’t be a baby.”

She was 20. Their infant son lay in the bedroom, drooling on Bill’s pillow, fitful with eczema. His ex Patsy, thinner now, lived in her own divorce trailer, screwing her burly handyman. Grown kids, not speaking to Bill. Everyone, broken. Bill sighed at the pile of ears. “Growing you up, it takes time, Sadie.”

From Guest Contributor Nicole Brogdon

Nicole is a trauma therapist in Austin TX, interested in strugglers and stories everywhere. Her flash fiction appears in Flash Frontier, Bending Genres, 101Words, Bright Flash, Dribble Drabble Review, Centifictionist, and elsewhere.