Fantasy Winners

Were the Newtown Bluebirds getting worse? Their last loss was 19-0. The one before that, 17-0.

Coach Mel Fromberg, at the practice field, addressed the Little Leaguers.

"Winners. We're going to be winners."

“Close your eyes, everybody. "

It was to be a group-fantasy-session.

"See yourself as a winner. Then, see the whole team of winners…"

"Eddie? A winner?" Steve Bramwell, the second-baseman, said he couldn't see it.

Eddie Franklin, the shortstop, said the same of Steve.

"Try again," demanded Mel, his eyes still closed. But Steve? Eddie? The Bluebirds? Winners? What kind of task had Mel set for them all?

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Losers

It was the last inning in an adult softball playoff game. We were behind by two runs. I had gotten a walk, which filled the bases. The next batter could tie or win the game. The manager replaced two of us with pinch runners, which caused our second and third outs for batting out of order. Many people thought that I was a good runner. Pinch runners were supposed to be used for the injured. I had objected to being subbed out, and this time it ensured our loss. I didn’t say it out loud, but I quit softball then.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Loss Of Self

I shouldn’t have fallen for the marketing (“You’re never alone with a clone!”), but I did. I saved up, sent my DNA sample to PeopleMakers, and a week later there was a knock on the door. He was perfect: sympathetic, interested in all my hobbies, and with all my tastes in clothes and women and jokes.

When I couldn’t afford to renew the subscription, though, he walked out of my life just as easily and quietly as he’d arrived, leaving me alone and even more achingly aware of what I didn’t have. Where am I now when I need me?

From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar

Alastair is an archaeologist by training, a translator by trade, and a nerd by nature. His published flash and micro fiction can be found here and he lurks on Twitter @skriptorium.

Doctor Burke

Doctor Burke’s hands are steadfast as he performs the intricate surgery. The patient has lost blood and the bullet is lodged in his abdomen.

Nurse Benson hands him the scalpel and he gently removes the bullet, but the patient begins to code. Burke uses the defibrillator and after several attempts the man flatlines. The time of death is 3:52pm.

Nurse Benson approaches. “You did everything you could.”

On the way home, all he thinks about is the loss.

When he walks in the door, his wife is waiting with red wine and dinner.

She asks how his first surgery went.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Survival

The bombs are exploding, but I don’t look back. My son is screaming, so I grab hold of his hand tightly and run.

Bullets riddle around us and people collapse to the ground. 'Keep going' my mind tells me and I do just that. The boat isn’t far, we just need to make it to the border.

“Hurry,” I say to George as he looks at me wide-eyed in fear. “There’s the boat he promised us. Quickly, get in.”

The rower says nothing as he helps us. His expression is of despair and loss.

We are the fortunate who survived.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Origin Of A Species

To this date, she had led a fairly convenient life. No big ups, but no big downs either, aside from the occasional deep grief over the loss of a pet.

But all of this was about to change, the turn of history would change, if not for the rest of humanity, at least for her. She had hesitated some time, but finally made up her mind.

This was definitely the last time she was going to wait in line at this store.

When it was her turn, she said: “Can I speak to the shop manager? Tell him it’s Karen.”

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

Before The Words, There Were Echoes

There was silence in the universe. Words were nowhere to be found, as if all existence had stopped and all that was left was a void of utter disbelief and confusion. How can there be something, and yet it means nothing?

She had many words inside her, words that boiled into nothingness and brought about the vapor of insignificance. She remembered “in the beginning was the Word,” but instead of feeling any sense of security, she lost heart.

In that loss, she grasped the emptiness of whispers and asked the vast expanse:

“What is needed to be compassionate?”

“A soul.”

From Guest Contributor Aida Bode

Rags To Riches And Back

HUBRIS CONTEST:

Mr. X fell. How badly?

Initially, he didn’t know. He continued contriving grandiose schemes. To deceive and conquer. Gain at the loss of others.

Friends he once had dwindled to one. They witnessed him gloating. How he went from rags to riches, increasing net worth “like no one else.”

Until the world sank into monetary collapse.

His temper shot up. Those he benefited from abandoned positions of his corporate ladder. He maintained headstrong in his quest of greatness, overriding those needing assistance.

Indeed, Mr. X fell. Sad thing, he had no clue how to rise.

Nor do others marked ‘X.’

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Exiled

The road is not straight. It swines and curves. Like a path of destruction. No journey here I called. I couldn’t see ahead. Deviation, pain, loss, pricked at me. They said no left turn, back up, 6 months, maybe less. Who decides, hurray, take a right? No, down that alley, over there. A light, but you can’t escape. It creeps in deceptive, unimaginable, taking everything. There is no humility. It feeds off itself until the end. Then a rapture egresses, no more pain, no more exile from the human race. So many, yet one name. So common - cancer awaits.

From Guest Contributor Dana Sterner