The Tomb At Starocel

The silence around the Thracian stones was so intense that Jamie could hear his footfalls on the sandy soil. What rites had taken place up here, to cast their memories down the future so? Magic tingled in the very air, the landscape not brooding, but waiting to be awakened once more, holding its breath in expectation of life restored. Climbing carved stone steps scaled to something slightly more than human, he approached the dark profundity of the beehive tomb lurking in the heart of the hill. Seeking to understand, he wondered if he could be more than just another tourist.

From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar

Instructions For Life After Life

Cast my ashes into an Atlantic gust alongside pelagic birds soaring, sleeping.

Watch them disappear over rogue waves.

Mourn me with salt-stung eyes and encyclopedias of words left unspoken.

Celebrate me with a frenzied fiddle and jittery jig.

Find me in the memory of a parting embrace.

Hear me in sweet words whispered in dark spaces.

Take solace knowing you, too, will one day suffer the pyre.

Picture your ashes strewn to the wind’s caprices.

Believe in an eternal afterlife of repurposed atoms.

Let us rest, not in peace, but spiraling together in an infinite universe pulsating with ancient energies.

From Guest Contributor Elizabeth Murphy

What’s In A Letter?

Uncle Max was as jovial in death as in life, Melinda chuckled.

One by one she discovered his letters by completing a series of navigational instructions from each. Midway through the fifth she froze. Right door, or left? Uncle wrote “the door”.

She decided on the right, but it did not lead her to the 6th letter, and there was no going back. Uncle’s rules.

“What’s in your bag?” she asked her brother.

“Candy, jokes, puzzles. You went through the wrong door,” brother grinned, popping gummy-bears into his mouth.

“Uncle Max should’ve written: Spying not allowed!” she squirmed, walking away.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

For the prompts Manuscript and Letter.

Mrs. Garvey

Tom mostly preferred to forget his high school years, but he did recall his senior English class. He spent an entire semester imagining his future married to Mrs. Garvey. As far as he was concerned, she was the most beautiful woman alive. The fact she was well versed in romantic literature only made their life together even more appealing.

Encountering his former crush at the grocery store should have provided the perfect opportunity to realize his dream. Unfortunately, despite being ten years older, he found himself just as incapable of forming a coherent sentence as when he was a student.

When Life Gives You Lemons

While Burt created a wedding cake, the radio crackled. “Evacuate, citizens!” a voice shouted. “An asteroid will hit us in ninety minutes and could flatten the town!”

“I’ve never let a bride down,” Burt muttered. “However, my notes are unclear on whether to do strawberry or lemon filling.”

The asteroid lowered itself through the clouds, blocking out the sun; its cratered face peered through the bakery’s window.

“Lemon,” it rumbled. “Bride not coming.”

“Okay,” Burt said.

When the cake was finished, it slipped through a sinkhole.

After the dust cleared, parts of the town were destroyed. The bakery remained standing.

From Guest Contributor Susmita Ramani

Normal Life

The hairdresser with a comb in between her teeth, mumbled, “Hey, Maxie, be with you in a few minutes.”

The hum of the blow dryer and the loud chatter filled the room with an abundance of life. Women flipped through magazines while waiting, and the owner turned on the television to the game show channel.

I went over to the coffee machine and made myself a cup. Steam rose and I sniffed the heat while sipping the hot liquid that warmed my insides.

I hadn’t been out in months with my treatments, and it felt great being around normalcy again.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Life In The Country

A rainbow fills the sky with blue, yellow and red colors, the vibrancy a sign it’s going to be a beautiful day. The birds chirp and soar above, their wings spread, adding to the calm of the setting.

I have the blanket and picnic ready for when he arrives, and the delicious aroma of fried chicken and ribs make my mouth water.

I throw pieces of bread into the pond for the ducks as they quack, swim, and cool in the water.

I left the city for the tranquil life of the country and I don’t regret it.

Not ever.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Medley

Jason worried his life lacked a central essence that defined his identity, and it was preventing him from being his true authentic self.

Jason's therapist suggested he might consider that life is more of a medley than a single guitar solo.

Jason lay on the couch and considered the possibility Mr. Johnson might be right. Perhaps he was trying too hard to be the lead at everything, and it was okay to enjoy being part of the ensemble.

Then Jason glanced the photograph of Mr. Johnson's cover band on the wall behind him and decided he needed a new therapist.

Unlucky Day

Being a leprechaun is a delight 99.75 percent of the time. All rainbows and clover and pots of gold. But for a single day in March, everyone wants their three wishes and suddenly life gets a lot more complicated.

Sean O'Patrick O'Reilly knew enough to scout his hiding place early. You never wanted to be caught because you're scrambling for an empty cave or secluded tree hollow and without warning someone has you by the ankle demanding a million dollars or world peace.

But who could have foreseen an old, fat man's metal detector stumbling upon Sean's golden hat buckle?

So Complicated

Harry wiped his brow as he stood before the giant flaming gates. Looking over his shoulder, the entrance to heaven beckoned, with thousands of newly dead souls waiting to be sorted in between.

"Next."

Harry was jostled to the front of the line.

"Will you be contesting your designation to hell?"

"Yes!"

"Very well. Fill out the following in triplicate." He held an aggressively thick stack of forms. "Every claim will need written evidence. One mistake, and you start over. Or you can skip the whole ordeal and enter hell immediately."

As in life, dead Harry chose the easier option.