Furry Friends

The park is filled with pets. It’s a hot summer day and I can feel the perspiration on my back. I come here every week to watch the dogs run and play, catching frisbees. It’s comical when one small dog grabs the frisbee and runs away under the tree when the owner is waiting.

You can see in the kids’ and parents’ faces, how their dogs make the family complete with their huge smiles, laughter and affection toward their hairy friends.

I didn’t realize the time. I must leave for an important appointment.

A new furry companion awaits my arrival.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Wishful Thinking

As the Strawberry moon sets on the peak the sky shines bright like a diamond ready for its new owner. Spring weather in the Springs is springing but the cool breeze feels good on our cocoa butter infused skin. Your eyes bright like a newborn showing off their first smile and your touch soft yet warm like Vicuña. The record player sings the soft sweet sounds of “The Sweetest Taboo” with our feet's glued to the floor with no care in the world. Nights like this are longed for with breathtaking experiences, never ending memories but nothing like wishful thinking. From Guest Contributor Renee' Battle

Renee' is a student studying broadcasting and legal studies at Pikes Peak State College.

Better Charge

He saw the new battery subset the last time he was sent in for routine maintenance. His two cycles out of style power supply barely sputters in comparison. But his owner does not think it worth the cost: that he is a serviceable hebot just as he is. He could be much better with pricklier power. No matter what arguments he makes, she will not upgrade his electricity fetch. Next time she configures him for intimate entertainment duty, he might simulate a power drain that interrupts performance. It is a trick he has seen this owner use with her husband.

From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner

Ken’s eleventh book, “Winter’s Last Apple,” is just out. Eight of his previous ten books are still in print. He lives in Virginia with his wife of 45+ years, assorted rescue cats and various betta fish.

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time a new pen got a first assignment: write a story with the title ‘Once upon a time.’ The owner of the pen who is also the writer of this story was curious about the result of this first cooperation.

The ink dried rather quickly which was a nice perk of course.

He bought the pen at an office supply store where he always had to enter every time he passed it.

It’s worth saying: the author loves holding the pen

So remember: the pieces you will be reading from now on are written with this pen.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

Adrian’s Jog

Adrian jogged in the park, the autumn breeze against his face. He nodded his good morning to fellow joggers as he enjoyed the chirping birds.

When he finished his laps, he stopped at the breakfast truck and bought his usual cup of black coffee.

The owner handed Adrian his change. “Crisp morning.”

Adrian sipped his coffee before responding. “Yeah, sure is.”

He said goodbye and took a seat on the bench.

The park began to fill with dog owners taking their pets for morning walks and the cool air warmed.

Adrian relaxed and closed his eyes.

It began to rain.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Stakeout

The house whose elderly owner didn’t believe in staging finally sold, for way below market value. The old man called Jane twice to back out, overcome by nostalgia. When it sold he moved in with his daughter. She lived nearby.

The excited buyers said it was perfect. A week after move-in they found him seated in a lawn chair, under the oak tree, sipping coffee.

The third time it happened the couple enlisted Jane. She talked him out of serial trespassing. The guy was ninety, a widower.

The buyers threatened to call the police if there was a fourth time.

From Guest Contributor Todd Mercer

Todd writes Fiction and Poetry in Grand Rapids, Michigan. His collection Ingenue was published in 2020 by Celery City Press. Recent work appears in Praxis, The Lake, Literary Yard, and Star 82 Review.

The Manor

The enormous house consisted of large acres of land with an abundance of flower and vegetable gardens. Violet’s only companion was her cat Missy.

She walked down the basement steps, the kerosene lamp, her only light. The stairs creaked and the ghastly noise churned her stomach.

When Violet reached the top shelf and grabbed a bucket, something brushed her leg. Startled, she tripped, fell, and hit her head unconscious. Missy pawed her arm until she awakened.

“Missy, don’t do that again.” Violet rubbed her lump and walked upstairs with Missy trailing behind.

In the basement, the deceased prior owner chortled.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M.Scuderi-Burkimsher

Ontological Question Within A Dream

I know I am asleep. I am floating, cruising through an old neighborhood. I recognize every detail of the houses and the trees. Perhaps I am just exploring the deepest, untouched basement spaces of my memory, where everything is stored? I float by an antique shop. The elderly owner, opening it up, looks at me. Now I muse: am I experiencing astral projection within my dream? I float by a little boy in black: going to a funeral? He is snagged on my floating robes, which are also black. I wonder: is this how one becomes, all unknowing, a witch?

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Caesar

Cheryl lived in Paris, Tuscany and Sligo for 25 years; she earned her doctorate in comparative literature at the Sorbonne and taught literature and phonetics. She now teaches writing at Michigan State University. Last year she published over a hundred poems in the U.S., Germany, India, Bangladesh, Yemen and Zimbabwe, and won third prize in the Singapore Poetry Contest for her poem on global warming. Her chapbook Flatman: Poems of Protest in the Trump Era is now available from Amazon and Goodreads.

A Normal Day

Bree walked up the subway steps into the abundant sunshine. It was a beautiful fall day, and the streets were filled with pedestrians hurrying to work. Cars honked and buses came to a halt at their designated stops. It was a normal day in the city of Manhattan.

Bree stopped for a bagel and tea at the cart in front of her building. The owner greeted her good morning and handed her the lightly buttered bagel and tea, sweetened with Equal and skim milk. After paying, she turned.

The rumble under her feet would be a moment she’d never forget.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Reduction

He sat alone.

He watched her scrape the painted letters from the window; watched FINE ARTS CAFE become FINE ART, then FINE and finally FIN.

She took a break.

He couldn’t bear to watch anymore anyway, imagined Painting becoming mere Paint, then Pain; Lessons, Less.

Having finished his coffee, he talked to the café owner about her plans now that she’d finally served up her last cup.

He knew he’d go soon too.

He mentally counted out the other empty storefronts, some of the buildings invisible from where he sat, their windows staring out at a rapidly fading Main Street.

From Guest Contributor Ron. Lavalette