His Stuff

Junk: garbage to some, treasure to others, clutter at best, navigational obstacle on flooring, the cause of falls and injury…

Antonio learned firsthand. The architect of his own disaster, he sat idly on an easy chair, arm in cast, pondering what to do with all his stuff.

Quite unexpectedly a lightbulb lit up his mind, showing him the way. Creativity reawakened. His heart warmed with new purpose. He sprung to work.

Praises from the artistic community accelerated his mission. Photos of his unique collages went viral. He was crowned ‘artist extraordinaire’.

…all because of the ‘junk’ in his humble abode.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Heatwave

They slept in front of stores closed for the day. Others pushed personal belongings in shopping carts.

A young woman missing front teeth stared upward as I passed. I crossed the street aware of an underweight cat doing likewise ahead.

“You have more?” I caught my partner off guard, showing the contents of my opened bag.

“How many you need?”

“At least a dozen.”

“That’s all I have,” he grimaced.

I resumed my mission as the sun lowered into its nighttime place, knowing that at some point I won’t have enough bottles of water to distribute to those in need.

From guest contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Accompaniment

Almost every morningit’s the same old ambient toss-up:Susumu Yokota or Lazybatusu.

Some days, neither flips his switch;some days: nothing but nothing. Silence.(He neither needs nor wants either one.)

Some days—especially days he’s up early—he just sits and types, humming his own theme:he calls it Lazysusubatsumu Yakotoma.

He hums and writes and writes againuntil everything comes out right,or his fingers start to bleed.

Even then, though,intent on his missionhe encourages the hemorrhage.

He’s stumbled onto something good;he’s just got to keep at ituntil it sings on its own.From Guest Contributor Ron. Lavalette

Ron.’s debut chapbook, Fallen Away (Finishing Line Press) is now available at all standard outlets. Many of his published works can be found at EGGS OVER TOKYO.

Gram’s Highest Calling

I hadn’t seen Gram at her normal function of serving since those days when I often joined her for her lemon pie. Not because she made it best, but because she needed me to receive it. Her God-given role of serving was dismissed when Gramps passed the nicer way; ‘Goodbye,” he’d whispered, then departed.

Time to let her go, service to others fulfilled. Her release not comforted with him at her side. She’d served her mission the best she could.

Mother phoned this morning. I heard the message in the ring. “She’s gone. It’s all done, but not all said.”

From Guest Contributor The Poet SPIEL

Established communicator of the arts, 81-year-old internationally published queer author/artist, storyteller, The Poet Spiel, writes of social conflict, satire noir, and personal hurdles.

Wandering Star

I killed the crew of the Wandering Star, humanity’s last hope.

A desperate mission to find a new home. The ship crashed into this lonesome planet of obsidian.

Maybe I’ve lost my mind. But I heard a voice calling me here. A soft whisper in the dark. They called me insane, said I’d gone AWOL. Tried to lock me up.

I wandered the surface, guided by the whisper, until I stood in its shadow, a great five-pointed upside-down black star floating high above.

I wept when I realized why I’d been led here. The leviathan declaring the end of humanity.

From Guest Contributor Rick Ansell Pearson

Rick lives and works in central Mexico. His fiction can be found forthcoming in Year Five: Dark Moments and Patreons, published by Black Hare Press.

Fantasy

Have you ever had a day where you just want to fantasize? I have. After long hours at a desk, on the way home after finding a seat on the railroad, I close my eyes and envision flying the Millennium Falcon. Chewbacca sits beside me, while Han Solo is working on something in the back room, cracking jokes. I make the jump to lightspeed and Chewbacca roars. I slowly cruise through the darkness of space and admire the surrounding planets.

Life is good and I’m excited about our mission.

The conductor announces my stop.

I exit the train to reality.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Journey

She crawls up the streambank to the edge of the road to carry out her innate mission. Now in the twelfth year of her life, she’s made the trip six times before, but the litter gets worse every year. On her way to the roadside, she moves past another snapping turtle hopelessly tangled in clear fishing line. Discarded beer cans and bottles keep getting in her way. She claws away sand and starts laying eggs. Fifty white eggs are guided into the hole and covered, only to be abandoned; in ninety days, the turtle hatchlings will be on their own.

From Guest Contributor N.T. Franklin

NT Franklin has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, CafeLit, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, among others.

Dangerous Mission

As he lay in his bunk, even the gentle swells of the sea could not calm his anxiety. He had worked so hard to get here. He had learned map reading, sailed along the coast of Africa, and Ireland. It had taken years to secure funding for this voyage. He would not allow himself to fail now.

The last few days had been difficult. Rations were running low and the crew were restless. It had been seventy days since leaving Seville. Had he somehow miscalculated?

Suddenly Columbus heard shouting and running above deck. His heart skipped a beat: “Land Ahoy!”

From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius

Caught In The Fury

One came at him from behind, another from the side. The assault started only minutes ago yet to him it felt longer.

He recalled his father's war experiences. How as a mere twenty-year-old he was expected to carry out his country's mission. The horror of losing many close friends while he was able to return home haunted him to the end of his life.

The present situation was nowhere as difficult as his father's. The opponent stalled, giving him the chance to counterattack.

He leaped into a pile of paper, shaped sheets into airplanes. Aimed at his son.From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.

The Red Lever

Danger...Danger...Danger!

The alarm system sounded throughout the starship, almost to the point of annoyance. Every crew member was well aware their lives were in imminent danger as they passed the event horizon.

Ensign Jones waited in the heaters. He understood little of their mission besides the rumors. But he hoped it was important. He didn't want to die for nothing. He had joined the Fleet hoping to become famous, and after eleven years he was still an ensign.

Jones yanked down the red lever. He didn't want to die for nothing, but they were all going to die.