The Sneeze

Otto couldn't stifle it. Did he want to sneeze all over Felice? No. But he did. And here he'd planned for a pleasant evening at the small BYOB Italian restaurant.

"God bless you, Otto," offered Felice as she grabbed her napkin."WHAT'RE YOU TALKING ABOUT!" It was a deep voice from above. Loud enough to shake the table.

Again, Otto sneezed. His nose was running now, but things weren't running well with Felice. And he'd brought a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

"God bless you, Otto," said Felice again, politely.

"NO WAY I'M BLESSING OTTO!" boomed the terrifying voice. "NOT OTTO!"

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Final Instructions

My toes wrap precipitous edges. Points of shale and limestone gouge my feet, painting blood trails. Struggling to stand, I traverse the narrow path. Black canyons rise below-- inviting me to swim in their depths. Immense. Cold. My hands flutter through gray smoke, displacing sacred dancers who vanish in gasping silence.Our last meal rustled as we pulled cardboard food from tattooed paper bags. You scrawled the plan across my brown napkin, freezing me.

I thrust myself into blankness, crystal ice. I discard hope, the weak’s weight. Growing lighter, I embrace your last etching, scratched upon my fading horizon. Goodbye.

Karen Burton recently received her MFA from Lindenwood University in St. Charles, Missouri. She currently serves as the managing editor of The Lindenwood Review.