King Of The Court

Every afternoon, Marcus ruled the court. Sneakers squeaked as he crossed defenders, launched impossible threes, and hammered dunks that rattled the rim. His friends groaned while commentators crowned him a legend. He knew every hesitation, every perfect release, every seam in the opponent's defense. He was lightning—untouchable, unstoppable, airborne.

When the final buzzer sounded, the crowd’s roar thinned to a mechanical hum. “Marcus, dinner’s ready,” his mom called from the kitchen.

“Coming,” he answered, while unlocking the brakes on his wheelchair, gripping the rims of the wheels and pushing himself back from his desk. Beyond the doorway, reality waits.

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes

E. has work published at A Story In 100 Words, Spillwords, The Purple Pen, The Haven, and Medium.

The Speculative King

Edmund Mortimer, crowned King Edmund III, is considered amongst certain scholars of the apocrypha to be the greatest monarch of England. His rule not only saw Great Britain and Ireland peacefully united, but also the annexation of Normandy and Brittany, who voluntarily joined the commonwealth out of regard for his magnanimity. His reign lasted 70 years, starting at age 9, and even as a boy he was renowned for his kind heart and wise decisions. His abdication ushered in the golden age of English democracy, which endured until wicked King Henry restored the monarchy in 1485.

Thus fate always wins.

So It Goes

A brave man killed a monster. He became a hero and was celebrated. He married a princess and eventually became a king. He had many children. Then he died.

An unlucky man was born poor. He made an unfortunate bargain and was cursed. He turned into a horrible monster, was shunned by society. Eventually a man came along and killed the unlucky man.

A unremarkable man lived an unremarkable life. He had good times. He had bad times. He died an unremarkable death.

A thoughtful man spent his entire life trying to make sense of it all. Then he died.

Porcelain Money

Everything he touched turned to porcelain.

It wasn't like a wish turned wrong, just a straight up curse, placed on him by unlucky stars, or an aggrieved warlock, or just dumb luck.

He learned to live with after a while. It was inconvenient, but he managed to eat by having people gently place food into his throat and swallowing without chewing. Soups mostly.

Of course his love life was non-existent. Porcelain people in various stages of undress wasn't much of a fetish.

The good news was being King allowed him to declare porcelain as the only form of legal currency.

His Majesty

The king sits on his throne with a large and excruciating chest wound. The room is filled with blood and lifeless bodies, his men.

The beautifully decorated hall is covered in blood and the delicately prepared meat and fruit sit untouched never to be eaten.

The king hasn’t much time. He can’t feel his legs and his body is cold. He reaches for his ring and struggles with his weak fingers to remove it. As he releases it, he slumps over and the ring drops to the ground, the noise echoing in the quiet.

His Majesty will soon be replaced.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Kingdom

I want to assure you we are all safe here. We have adequate resources to wait until all of the infected have died. With our fortifications and firepower there is no way any plague carriers can get in here. Furthermore, all of you have been chosen for your talent, intelligence, and genes for repopulating the country when the time is right. As long as you trust me as your King, we will prevail against all challenges. Questions? Yes, my good friend Geraldine Jackson. King, have you looked in a mirror lately? You have a red splotch on your right cheek.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Only Beauty Survives

The king delighted in varying which crowns he wore. One day he’d wear a crown of gold; the next, a crown of silver or of iron, or even a crown eccentrically fashioned from barbed wire. When he wore the latter, he was always surprised when blood ran in rivulets into his eyes. The queen, meanwhile, hated anyone who might be thought more beautiful than she was. She frequently sent assassins throughout the land to eliminate all possible rivals. That sound isn’t thunder, people would say, but an assassin rapping on the door of a cottage until his knuckles are raw.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of The Death Row Shuffle, forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.

Lady Macbeth

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

Life had become so boring, so beige boring. Every day it was hound the maids, light the candles, greet the guests. Then along came prophecy! What’s not to believe about a witch, let alone three? Once again, my world oozed with possibility.

What came to pass? Life in red, gushing red. There was blood in the soup, blood in the stew, blood on the hands of my husband. I thought about the plagues in Egypt, the Pharaoh who knew about miracles turned against him. I thought about science. That what flows, surely ebbs? While the old king’s blood ran blue.

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Linda Lowe's poems and stories have appeared in Gone Lawn, Crack the Spine, What Rough Beast, New Verse News, Tiny Molecules and others.

The Raven And The Crow

The raven saw the crow perched on the church spire in the middle of town and demanded he make himself scarce.

"I'm the king of the birds and I deserve the best roost."

The crow scoffed. "I don't think so."

The raven puffed up his feathers and flapped his wings threateningly, but the crow was unimpressed. As they were almost exactly the same size, it was unclear who would win in a fight.

"You're a crow, no different than me. Just because one time a woman mistook you for a raven doesn't mean you're better than the rest of us."

Kingly Pursuits

Every spring, King Tolliver traveled with his retinue to the ruins. None of the official historians had an explanation of what city once stood here, all of the stories offered contradicting explanations of the calamity that brought the civilization to decrepitude.

The official justification for King Tolliver's annual sojourn was his desire to reflect on the folly of excessive hubris. This was deemed a kingly pursuit. But the truth of the matter was much more prosaic.

Tolliver's son enjoyed scrambling over the rocks looking for cracked ceramics and the occasional colored glass. More importantly, the king shared the prince's enthusiasm.