Interesting Times

Brandon and April hold hands as they walk their house one last time, searching for anything important left behind. The entire move has been an impromptu affair, with little opportunity to reflect on what truly counts as essential. Certainly not their record collection or even their wedding album. It's weird to think about how much things have changed in so little time, and what used to be cherished heirlooms are now nothing more than dead weight. The less they bring with them, the better.

What's the quote? May you live in interesting times? Surely, an alien invasion counts as interesting.

The Engineers Play Chess

Christos and Lieberman, veteran development engineers, played chess every lunch hour. Watson, a young engineer, joined the project, watched them play and immediately starting making unwanted comments. They put up with him for two weeks.

One day Christos briefly studied the board, then moved Knight to F4.

"That's a strange move," Watson commented.

Lieberman immediately moved rook to H6.

"That doesn't make sense. What did you do that for?" Watson demanded.

The two chess players said nothing, just stared at him.

"OK, I'm leaving," Watson finally said.

"Check," said Christos and reset his pieces.

"Mate," Lieberman added and did likewise.

From Guest Contributor Ronald Larsen

Changing

"You've changed," she said, as I held her in my arms. She had no idea how much, how often! But I wasn't the man she'd known before, and I could see she'd leave me soon.

There was no time for whining, I needed to act. I spent days shaping the perfect moment to make my move: the roses were divine, the wine an excellent vintage, and moonlight glinted on brass candlesticks. She didn't see it coming.

Afterwards, I crunched down on her bones, and cleaned my muzzle in the bowl by the door. Then I ran to rejoin my pack.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.

Chatrang

“Your move,” Death said.

They can’t hear me. Please give me another chance. The mortal shivered.

“Thirteen moves.” The Guardian Angel moved his bishop.

The Death Angel smirked. "Check."

“It's never enough to defend their lives,” the Guardian sighed.

No, I don’t want to die.

“They never learn, do they?” Death chuckled. “No empathy for others, until violence knocks on their doors.”

No, please, I’m a good person.

“Someday, maybe, I hope to defend a man who is worth a decent game." The guardian placed his knight.

Oh god, I can’t see anything, I want to live!

Death roared, “Checkmate.”

From Guest Contributor Amberstar Rosette

Amberstar is a writer who lives in the Czech Republic

Taking Chances

I held the charred remains of something dear to me. Last glowing sparks from the fire catapulted towards the night sky, disappearing upon impact.

“Have more wine,” my friends encouraged. “You’ll sleep easier.”

I took the bottle, poured a glassful. Considered my next move with every sip. What if this happens again? Can I take more defeat?

We sat at the scene of the blaze. The nearby forest receded into a thickening mist. I removed that which once was from my clasp and attached another to the end of my skewer.

Toasting marshmallows over a campfire need not be complicated.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband and stuffed animals and many friends.

Trick Or Treat

Drew wanted to play a trick on his young teenage neighbors. He dressed in an elaborate zombie outfit, blood dripping from his mouth, face and hands painted white. He’d wait for the boys and then make his move. It would be nice payback for toilet papering his car last year.

He peered out the window and there they were.

Drew limped down the block screaming. At first, they laughed and threw leaves at him, but then their eyes widened.

“Hey, it’s just me, Drew,” he said and removed the phony mask.

He turned and behind him stood an identical zombie.

From Guest Contributor Lisa Scuderi-Burkimsher

Candlelight Song

The first night we moved into our new home, we heard singing from the house next door. I went to the window and saw a woman singing on the second floor. She held a single candle in her hand.

As the weeks passed, we heard the singing every night, the same song, the same window, the same candlelight. I might have imagined it, but the singing seemed to be becoming louder.

Now, each night, I sit at my window and sing that song, a single candle my only source of light. I have not seen my wife in many years.