Charles’ Walk

Charles’ aide was fast asleep on the couch, television blaring. He slipped out the back door and walked not knowing where he was going. He watched the strangers pass and smile as if they knew him. Charles had been lonely, scared, and uncertain about where he belonged, so he walked and walked. It became dusk and he wasn’t sure of his surroundings and stared confused.

A woman with dark hair walking a small dog approached Charles. It was his neighbor of twenty years, Lily.

“Charles, what are you doing walking alone at this hour?”

Charles stared blankly at the lady.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Cafe Shi

I had just gotten an invitation to a special meal at Cafe Shi. For those who do not know it. Look it up. Best readers, writers, thinkers in the multiverse, a place to eat and listen to stories that would make your hair curl.

I got there as a Mandela effect meeting was finishing up. Those poor souls all crying about the coming thermonuclear war and what to do about it.

I listened as a lady I knew from a prior life spoke about Colorado radiation levels and burning sulfur rain.

Seemed rather odd a thermonuclear war would end humanity.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Let Go, She Said

“What do you think you’re doing, young man?”

The waiting room on platform 10, a jewel of early 20th century art deco, was rather crowded, but Lady Sophie had – as always - the most comfortable seat. She lay down her book, a first print of ‘Homicide on the Western Rapid’ by Dame AC Miller. Lady Sophie was absolutely ill tempered, because she was about to discover what the brilliant detective Benoni Pommier was about to úncover.

“If you don’t let go of my handbag immediately, you’d better start praying. Let your undoubtedly very rare little grey cells do their work.”

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé Suys (°1968 - Ronse, Belgium) started writing whilst recovering from a sports injury. To impress wife, kids and closest friends, he does this barefooted and hatless.

The Sobbing Lady

It was about 2 am. I was on my way home. Again, as expected, I heard the same old sobbing of a lady that I have been hearing for a month on that particular road. I know it’s creepy and haunting, but I’m pretty used to it and have nothing to do. This is the only path I can take. No shortcuts, long routes, nothing! I couldn’t even tell anyone. After all I was responsible for all the things happening to me. Yeah, I was the one who ran her over with my truck and killed her a month ago.

From Guest Contributor Prapti Gupta

Exquisite

The naked model sits, head bent, arms and hands relaxing. Her beauty is undeniable with pure white skin and long toned legs.

The room is quiet. Everyone is concentrating on brushstrokes and creating a perfect painting, while my quick brush movements against the canvas are remarkable. The background is colorful and the lines of her body immaculate.

“Well done, Nicholas,” says the instructor and pats my shoulder.

Eyes are on me and coldness fills the room.

Ignoring the glares, I concentrate on the finishing touches.

Before me is an exquisite, brilliant image.

My love. The lady who stole my heart.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Tire Chains

"I'm packing tire chains in the boys' luggage. Just wrap them around the tires," the father of my two nephews advised.

"Sounds easy." I reply. "We'll have fun in the snow!"

Three days later, my nephews and I are standing by the snow-laden roadside with tire chains wrapped around the axle.

We look forlorn and lost. A park ranger passes by, a CHP passes by, and a dozen travelers glance at a young woman and two children in distress.

"Lady? Need some help?" says a tatooed Hell's Angel over the roar of his Harley.

"Please! You are an angel. Thanks."

From Guest Contributor Deborah Shrimplin

The Witness

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

Her footman stood in the midst of the crowd on the grounds of the White Tower. He could see the scaffolding, the glistening executioner's sword, and the block where his lady would place her head. Then, Lady Anne climbed onto the scaffolding.

Holding back his tears, the footman listened to the Queen's prayerful last words. He watched as the attendants removed her mantle of ermine and blindfolded her. She knelt down.

With one swift stroke, the French swordsman ended the life of Queen Anne.

The footman turned to his friend and cried, "If only she had given him a son."

From Guest Contributor Deborah Shrimplin

Later Life

Given the choice, I would want to be the sort of shrewd, goatish old man it’s said Rodin was, strolling the broad boulevards and ornate arcades of Paris after a productive morning in the studio, a young Russian-born French lady leaning lightly on his arm, and if her eyes were too wide apart for her to be considered a classic beauty, or if she didn’t actually read any of the books he recommended, he wouldn’t care, because it had just turned fall, and the air was like a crisp white wine, and they always felt at least a little drunk.From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie co-edits the journals Unbroken and UnLost.

The Beats

Gregory Corso was sitting in the window of Allen Ginsberg's East Village apartment – two, three hours, just sitting in silence. He had vowed to himself not to be a willing participant to any further chaos. Just to be every day, it took everything. You could be having a really nice time at the beach or the park one minute and in the next minute there could be cops with meaty red faces gassing and clubbing you. Once at a reading some lady asked him, “What’s an id?” and he waited a bit before answering, “Eighteenth-century sea captains carousing in Surinam.”

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of The Titanic Sails at Dawn (Alien Buddha Press, 2019).

House Guest

A puppy was shivering in freezing wind and Bholu decided to bring it home and provide shelter for a night. He hid it from his granny, but as soon as Bholu dozed off to sleep the puppy came out and started licking the old granny's feet. The poor lady screamed and woke up from her sleep. The puppy got scared and hid under a cupboard in the room. Granny caught hold of a torch and flashed it under the cupboard. She saw two sparkling eyes gazing at her. She pulled it out and wondered how it got into the house. 

From Guest Contributor Preeti Singh

Preeti is an Indian French interpreter, international author, and scriptwriter. In her free time, she loves to play sundry characters for television series. 
You can check out her latest book at https://www.infiniterealmsbookstore.com/product-page/remember-me-not-by-preeti-singh

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