Rain

The rain pelted my windshield, and the wipers provided minimal vision. My heart pounded and my hands gripped the steering wheel. I drove at a slow pace and prayed the weather would calm down and hoped the next exit would be soon.

“Lilly, remember how terrible the weather was on our first date. We watched the raindrops from the restaurant window, and you commented on how nature can get angry at any time. That’s when I kissed you for the first time. Your raspberry lip balm tasted so sweet.”

I glanced at the empty seat wishing she were still alive.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Same

The birds flew by

as the wind blew past.

Cars come cruising, crossing coastlines.

They're the same.

Birds fly free with the ocean breeze

and the cars follow along to their graceful flight.

They're the same, together in the light.

One flies,

one drives.

They're the same.

An endless road.

An infinite sky.

They're the same.

It's no race,

they're at the same pace.

The road twists and the car does not slow.

The bird resists the wind and flies high.

They're the same.

The road is black and yellow,

and the sky is blue and white.

They're the same.

From Guest Contributor Daniel Duong

Saturday Jog

Jogging through the park, I keep the pace feeling energetic and free. The breeze against my cheeks feels refreshing and the chirping birds fill the air with song.

It’s crowded for a Saturday morning and parents are up early with their children. I pass two women pushing their young children on the swings as the boys soar high and chortle. Other joggers pass and smile contently.

I finish my lap and take a seat on the bench gulping water.

After breakfast and a shower, I will go about my regular weekend visiting my dad in the nursing home memory unit.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Adventure Of A Lifetime

The black clouds rolled in at a frightening pace, so close now that the lightening and thunder arrived simultaneously. His boat pitched up and down with such force, the hull strained at the seams and might break apart at any moment.

Gordon used the anchor line to lash himself to the railing. Sailing around the world had been his lifelong dream. He expected to spend his retirement visiting exotic ports and using the solitude to work on his memoir. But here he was fighting for survival in open ocean.

His remarkable life deserved something more than such a futile end.

Tracks

The snow showed her tracks. It was easy for them to follow her. They were clumsy and noisy, but were on her trail. At this pace, she was not sure how long she could last.

As the snow came down harder, her tracks were getting covered and would make them hard to follow. If the snow continued at this rate, her tracks would be obliterated and she would be safe. Then she could stop and rest, and hide under some fir trees until they passed or gave up. She would live another day and maybe give birth to her fawn.

From Guest Contributor NT Franklin

The Boglands

You’ve walked this way hundreds of times, but tonight seems different. You keep your pace brisk and straight.

Two shadows, a woman and her child. She reaches down, ruffling the boy’s hair. That's when the boy skips off the road, slipping from the woman’s hold. He sinks into the marshland, cries out and is submerged completely.

You rush forward and grasp the child.

It is not a child. Eyes roll back into the skull then flick forwards. Slight hands clamp tight.

“We’re sorry,” the woman murmurs.

One final gulp of air and all three of you sink into the Boglands.From Guest Contributors Katie Clark and David Rae

David lives is a fan of flash fiction and has had work published in; BLINK-INK, HELIOS QUARTERLY, GNU MAGAZINE, THE MACHINERY, THREE DROPS FROM THE CAULDRON, SUMMER FLING -TALES OF SEDUCTION, SHORT TALE 100 and 50 WORD STORIES.

Katie is new at this game but thinks she might like it. She's the brains behind the operation

One Last Sunrise

Carl awoke to the escalating chorus of songbirds echoing through the dense northeastern forest. He arose and went through his morning ritual in silence. Dress and redon boots. Rehydrate and consume breakfast, coffee. Breakdown camp. Load his backpack.

These same activities he had performed for countless summers, now at a slower more deliberate pace.

The sealed cardboard box was left out of his pack today. He would carry it the last few miles in his hands.

Arriving at their unnamed peak, he savored the sunrise view east. Opening the box, he sprinkled her remains. Finally, at peace. Finally, at home.

From Guest Contributor Todd Raubenolt