A Mere Shell

In the end I ran away, fleeing what I am guilty of. As a young man I committed those crimes, telling myself orders were orders, that we were the justified, dealing out punishments fit for imagined crimes.

Now, older, reflecting on how my past moulded me, I return to the scene of my crimes. German and Jew, I embraced one me and snuffed out the other. Is this survivor guilt? Or am I finally realizing and admitting my evil past?

I wander the compound, begging spectres for a forgiveness that will never come. Are they the ghost, or am I?From Guest Contributor Tim Law

Ed's Choice

“If you were a fly, Ed...”

“What'd you mean, a fly?”

“I'm just asking.”

They were at AL'S DINER. The waitress had not yet taken their orders. Ed knew his flies. That's why Mel asked.

“So, if you were a fly, would you go for the scrambled eggs or Al's oatmeal?”

“A fly, huh, Mel?”

“Yeah… Just a regular house fly.”

“Well, I guess the eggs. Now, of course, a horse fly...That might be different.”

“Nah...I'm only interested in regular flies, Ed. I don't see that many horse flies, compared to the usual house flies, in here today.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Reflections In The Rain

Amid labyrinthine alleys and neon-lit streets, a small cafe beckons. Inside, a lone figure cradles a lukewarm coffee, eyes weary yet searching. Across, a young couple laughs—a fleeting yet beautiful symphony of joy.

The cafe hums: baristas call orders, chatter blends into a comforting buzz. Inside him, a yearning tide—echoes of a once-ablaze love, now scattered like dead autumn leaves. Rain taps a melancholy rhythm, each drop a plea.

The coffee, bitter; the rain, demanding. He catches someone staring back—unspoken stories, quiet regrets. He reaches to comfort the other, feeling only glass. No one searches but himself.

From Guest Contributor Chinmayi Goyal

The Glory Days

Captain Sam of the starship Gillian's Folly watches as the stars pass in long white arcs of Doppler light. As a boy, he always wanted to command a ship. The power. The excitement.

In reality, today everything is controlled by the ship's intelligence. Captain Sam is a glorified steward, employed by the corporation to ensure all the passengers behave themselves. For some reason they find listening to orders from a man in a uniform easier to swallow than from a computer, never mind said computer controls how much oxygen they receive.

Captain Sam longs for the days of intergalactic war.

Determination

Through the stained-glass window, the heat of the sun beams on my face while mellifluous birds chirp in unison. I yearn to be outside on this spring day, listening to the sounds of nature, and children’s chortles, but my body lays limp.

Something is wrong. The hospital is bustling, and I hear shouting. “He is coding!” The doctor is giving orders and then I hear the sound of the defibrillator.

“Clear!” Thump. “Again.” “Clear!” Thump. “Again.” “Clear!” Thump.

The monitor steadies and the doctor sighs relief. “He has stabilized. This patient is determined.”

After my arduous episode, I rest soundly.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Love Triumphal

Mother hides me in the closet.

You won’t go back to that school. I’ll deal with that asshole father.

She smells of lavender perfume and sweat. Not like Dad with his Old Spice, calculated aroma, who mocks Mother. Arranges my future with Headmaster Edgar. Harvard, law.

Men bang at the doors. Buzzwords waft into my musky space: “Custody arrangement,” “Legal orders.”

Fuck off. Mother’s words hold firmness, edge.

Footsteps draw near, unpleasant pounding.

My mother tells them I’m her son. I’m someone who needs love.

I absorb that word, so foreign, while she spars, words rising.

Love. What beautiful form.

From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri.

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. His work is forthcoming or has been published in journals such as 50 Word Stories, Silent Auctions, City. River. Tree. and Ariel Chart.

Mother

I try on names for mythical mother. Mother. Mama. Mom. They hold their own weight. Mother, formal, yet beautiful. Mama, the moon, wistful and luminous. Mom is too plain.

Daddy tells me to stop with the mother stuff. Focus on what I have. He stayed to keep me safe.

But he never loves. Never smiles.

I conjure images. From ten years ago. Maybe they’re dreams. A silhouette. A lavender dress, a temper. Perfume. Words of love, fleeting.

Dad’s all beards and beer. Orders, no words of love.

Love doesn’t pay bills.

I keep trying on names, wishing. I can’t stop.

From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. A recipient of two Honorable Mentions from Glimmer Train, he has had work nominated for a Pushcart Award and The Best Small Fictions. Yash's work is forthcoming or has been published in journals such as Unstamatic, Door Is A Jar Magazine, Maudlin House, and Ariel Chart.

Past Life As A Goldfish

You don't believe me, Doctor!

It's not what I believe, you believe it.

Our apartment number is 911.

Joe, really, it means nothing.

You think it is a coincidence?

Coincidences happen, Joe.

I'm starving! I can't breathe!

Dr. Adams knew that he should do something. Even though he was a psychiatrist he never could stand seeing a grown man cry. He texted his admitting orders to the hospital.

Then he texted Joe's wife. He needed her to hold off serving Joe with divorce papers.

He looked it up... "googled" they used to say... left alone for days, many pets died.

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes