Working Theory

He has a fear of hot Danish. When the bakery shop opens its accusing awning in the morning, he retreats to avoid notice by the shop’s pastries. Open-air breakfast shops infuriate him. In his infrequent sleep, he is haunted by the idea of smothering icing, steam welling into a wall of baker’s avenging anger. The syrup run-off loitering in the pan. He wakes with his cheeks and tongue burning, the rift of his nose aflame, a gooey lump of heat assaulting his eyes from the backside. He tells himself: they will cool. When they do, he will conquer them all.

From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner

The Manor

The enormous house consisted of large acres of land with an abundance of flower and vegetable gardens. Violet’s only companion was her cat Missy.

She walked down the basement steps, the kerosene lamp, her only light. The stairs creaked and the ghastly noise churned her stomach.

When Violet reached the top shelf and grabbed a bucket, something brushed her leg. Startled, she tripped, fell, and hit her head unconscious. Missy pawed her arm until she awakened.

“Missy, don’t do that again.” Violet rubbed her lump and walked upstairs with Missy trailing behind.

In the basement, the deceased prior owner chortled.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M.Scuderi-Burkimsher

Maxine and Me

Linda bought it for me at the museum gala. "So many wonderful things for a donation." she said, "You should have come, my dear! Meet new people."

She's part mother, part matchmaker. I need both.

But do I need this? A burnt, ugly, pockmarked lump of rock. The note with it read "Deaccessioned. Meteorite acquired by Dr. Harris, Labrador 1905. Once much larger, visitors took pieces for many years."

My friend must think I'm like this thing. Dark, scarred. Fragmentary since Bruce left.

I call it Maxine. Sits brooding under a lamp on my desk. We keep each other company.

From Guest Contributor Karen Walker

Cicadas

Gary’s gasping two-hand tap against the wall earned second place in the breaststroke. Pete had less time to breathe.

First in the butterfly - their final high school triumph shared.

Later, they met in the shower. Whispers were overpowered by streaming water.

Gary’s kiss goodbye burned as a beloved's should.

“You’re sure? My heart...so damn broken.” A lump choked his every word.

“Me, too.” Gary held him. “But we’ll be one thousand miles apart.”

Later, Pete laid in the tall grass behind the aquatic center. Silver-voiced male cicadas polished their mating song in desperation, chanting for a miracle.

From Guest Contributor Embe Charpentier