Sweetest Decline

Autumn evenings hit different. You know the season because of how the air cools your sun-burnt skin, and you crave melting into the breeze. Insect music dances across the same wind as your smile. The scent of decay tantalizes with its promise of the most peaceful hibernation. Surrounded by abundance, knowing there's more than you can ever hope to enjoy.

Smile. You have friends to share it with.

I fall asleep, a big spoon in a drawer with just enough silverware for a single meal. Remember to wash it after every use and one spoon is enough to last a lifetime.

Homecoming Surprise

Izzy rubbed her protruding stomach. It’d been months since she’d seen him, and soon he’d find out she was pregnant.

Sam was on his way home, the war ended. Izzy prepared his favorite meal, lamb with cut string beans and mashed potatoes. The aroma of cooked meat and vegetables filled the room.

The doorbell rang and Izzy hastened to answer it. There in the doorway stood Sam holding a bouquet of freshly cut flowers.

Sam stared at her stomach. “Izzy, are you?”

Before he could finish the sentence, she pulled him into a hug and screamed yes, the meal forgotten.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Mel Finishes the Week

His week at the coin-operated laundromat finally over, Mel wished for nothing more, after a meal of mac & cheese, than a night of uninterrupted sleep.

So, now in REM sleep, he was able to dream, to put his Uncle's laundromat behind him.

To recover.

But what the...

It was his Uncle Leo, bursting into Mel's dream of sleeping on laundry. There’s something pleasant about lying on towels and underwear at your work.

“I don't pay you to sleep. Take this mop, Mel.”

All that night he spent mopping.

Mopping and mopping linoleum until the morning, when he awoke exhausted.

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

The Boat

Queenie was a friend of mine. I went to visit one weekend. Her husband was there but I didn't get to see him much because he was "busy working on the boat."

He was working in the garden. I went out to say hello but he was silent and went on with the work.

We had a meal, just the two of us. Queenie was used to dining alone.

When we heard that the boat had sunk on its first voyage, there was a certain amount of hilarity. He had escaped with his life. The devil looks after his own.

From Guest Contributor Derek McMillan

Derek is the writer of "Murder from Beyond the Grave" available on eBay.

Live A Little Before You Are Eaten

Hybrid kids of Earth? Munching on mermaids? Half-trout, half-human tumors to turbocharge fish growth? A few escape, and voilà, mermaids? Dining on Manitours? Half-cow, half-human tumors? Some flee, transforming Earth into fairyland? How 'bout orcs? Half-pig, half-human tumors? Orcs could settle scores when they flee. The weirdest? Chickenman. End days echo Noah's. Bon appétit! The sad truth of mankind? Will humanity never learn? Eating yourself to death is humanity into Soylent Green all over again? Does humanity never listen and learn change your way before you become the meal of the day. For in the end. Live before being eaten.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

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

Sweet Revenge

“Trespassers deserve to be punished,” Ralph stated. “They have no business being on property they’re not entitled to.”

He stared at his damaged lawn.

Jeremy winced. “You sure about that? Might’ve been here before you.”

Ralph scratched his chin. “Okay, they’re diligent workers but they aren’t working for me.”

“How about you forget and forgive. Better still, prepare a nice meal for them.”

“That’s what I had in mind. Got all the fixings right here in my bag.“

After mixing up the concoction and serving it, Ralph watched.

With the sweet taste of sugar, the ants entered their underground home.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada.

There’s Been A Murder

Sunday, April 12

A murder has occurred at the Johnson’s mansion and Earl Johnson was found dead in the basement. The following are transcripts between the investigator and suspects.

Investigator:

“The murder took place around 8:30 p.m. last night. Where were you all during that time?”

Chef (Mr. Washington):

“I was cooking Mr. Johnson’s favorite meal; it was his birthday.”

Ms. Johnson:

“I was freshening up and putting on my dinner gown.”

Maid (Ms. Paddington):

“I was out getting the mail.”

Everyone stopped and looked at the maid with wide eyes.

Investigator:

“Ms. Paddington, the mail doesn’t run on Sundays.”

From Guest Contributor Daemion McKellar

She Would Be Worried

Sometimes, words were just not enough. She took

snapshots daily— her plated meals of living alone.

No explanation of how these fresh organic tastes

styled homespun comfort, like an old friend who

knew how to sit across from her and not say any-

thing, and waited until the meal’s dialog was lost in

a twitchy laugh; always with an index finger raised

to red lips to snuff out the danger of being intimate.

She liked the idea of having company; but didn’t

want to show anyone where she truly lived. Pst—

pst, pst— this secret joke exploded in her head.

From Guest Contributor M.J.Iuppa

M.J. Iuppa’s fourth poetry collection is This Thirst (Kelsay Books, 2017). For the past 32 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.

Giving Thanks

With Thanksgiving approaching, Ellie wanted to do something special. She dreaded listening to her sister complain about cooking Thanksgiving dinner when there were people that would give anything to have a meal and a family.

Ellie’s small fingers typed on the computer keyboard searching for anything she could do to help those in destitution and found it. Her eyes locked on a three-year-old girl from Africa who needed a sponsor. She had the brownest eyes and deepest dimples. Despite her cuteness, she appeared frail and that’s when Ellie came to a decision.

A little girl was very happy that year.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher