Interstellar Rebellion

"Red Alert!"

Captain Spiff dashed to the bridge of his sentinel frigate, shocked at what he found. Thousands of enemy warcraft descended on the capitol planet's defenses, seemingly out of nowhere.

Emperor Devane had ruled the galaxy for more than 2700 CR (Capitol Revolutions) with no hint of rebellion. Entire systems were wiped out for causing the slightest upset to the Emperor's mood. Coordinating such an attack must have taken years, yet his daily security briefing had offered zero hint of the possibility.

Spiff's final thought was to contemplate what promotion might be available were he to defeat these insurgents.

All The Choices

Stacy surveys the cereal aisle.

When she was young she could never choose. There were too many favorites. Lucky Charms. Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Cocoa Puffs. Even Cheerios on occasion. Her mom always got frustrated, because she'd settle on one, and five minutes later want to run and grab another. Nothing looks as delicious as the cereal not picked.

As an adult, Stacy keeps it simple. Always granola. But tonight she's in the mood for something new. 20 minutes later, and she is still trying to decide.

Once she gets home, she'll finally have to tell Jake their marriage is over.

Leading Questions

“Does my ass look OK in these jeans?” she asked me.

“What do you mean?”

“Me arse—it looks OK?”

“Why? Did you do something to it?”

“Can’t you be serious?”

“You're aware it has a crack in it, aren’t you?”

“Do you think you’re funny?”

“What do you want to know? Is it the right shape? The right size?”

“Is it big?”

“What does big mean? Can you walk over by the door?”

“To here? Far enough?”

“There now you’ve made it smaller, haven’t you? Does that make you happy?”

“You just can’t get in the mood, can you?”

From Guest Contributor Edward Voeller

The Wooden Spoon That Left A Scar

The wooden spoon has its many uses. Grandma used it to stir the pot as the sweet savory smell of her brown stew wafted through the kitchen door to the hallway. After a hearty meal, I was always waiting for the unknown. This caused all my childhood anxiety. Grandma’s mood – now dark. I winced as the wooden spoon landed on my bare buttocks, smack after smack. I couldn’t sit down. When my teacher found out, I ended up in care. It was very unpleasant. The wooden spoon left more than a scar. I panic each time I see one.

From Guest Contributor Ibukun Sodipe

My Constant Inconstant

It is hard to swallow that the sun always beams on someone, when she ignores shining on me. The sun parks behind the clouds on sullen January mornings, knowing, full well, the snow would be whiter and the air, warmer, if it was ambitious enough to burn through molten lead skies.

Wallowing in darkness, with only a feeble moon, I am not the least bit rapturous to know the sun blazes in Australia. Cosmic, coquettish peek-a-boos of partly cloudy days throw me into a dark mood but, in my codependency, I am happy that my constant inconstant keeps coming around.

From Guest Contributor Tim Philippart

The Price Of Loyalty

Jesse saw his blood staining the grass behind him as he was dragged across the lawn. At least he thought it was his blood. He'd taken such a beating that he was starting to worry about Mr. Jordan's fists.

Most people thought Mr. Jordan had an awful temper and they generally quit his service after only a few weeks. Those that lasted did so because they stood up for themselves.

That meant, when Mr. Jordan was in one of his moods, Jesse was the singular focus of all the boss's anger.

Tonight, Mr. Jordan was in one of his moods.

The Manufactured Clarity Of A Warm Bath

Rachel held herself tightly and rehashed all the bitter memories. The water soaked into her skin and she wished the gentle lapping would wash away her regrets and better-left-unsaids. Yet her mood only darkened as the wrinkles formed.

She blamed herself for everything. For the aborted pregnancy, for the bruises on her cheek and back, for the bitterness that forever clung to her. The alternative was too overwhelming, that the world is full of assholes, or that happiness is difficult to acquire and nearly impossible to hold on to.

She'd rather claim the responsibility. At least then there is hope.