Flowers

All I must do is deliver the package. I am told he’ll use the code “flowers”.

I flirt with the guard. I compliment his uniform and touch his shoulder and that’s all it takes to get through the checkpoint. The paper is hidden in a secret compartment of my compact mirror, but I didn’t want to take a chance.

The bar is busy, and I see the man the agent described to me sitting alone. I casually walk over and sit next to him.

“The flowers are in full bloom,” he says.

I slip the paper in his jacket pocket.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Death Sentence

“Stay,” I commanded, my palm facing him.

He dropped to his belly, those big brown eyes looking up at me. Our gaze hung for a moment, lovingly. He was my only friend, and I, his only master.

I grabbed the package and headed to the meeting point. That’s when I heard the sirens. Four years for distribution, the judge decided, as it was my first offense. It would have been life if they’d found the warehouse.

Four years tougher, I returned. There, just as I left him, was Julian. Emaciated and still. The most loyal gimp I ever did have.

From Guest Contributor Liam Kerry

Progress

NATURE SUBMISSION:

Kyrel sucks the last remaining liquid from his glucose package and drops the empty packet on the floor. His mother always complains about the lack of variety, but GelCorp has come out with three new flavors in the last month, all thoroughly tested on young consumers to ensure their likability.

His mother's always going on about the way things used to be. Kyrel is more modern in his outlook. The companies are simply responding to consumer demand, not forcing anything on anyone. Who wants to eat so-called food when you can get your nutrition custom-engineered to your exact genetic profiles?

From Guest Contributor Jeff Heston

East Meets West

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

On 10 November 1989, Hans shuffled nervously across the debris littered street, clutching a package close to his chest.

He apprehensively approached the building, straightened his lapels then entered the revolving door.

On reaching the counter, he removed the book from the bag, sliding it across to the stern looking assistant. She opened the book’s cover and said “this is date stamped 13.08.1961. I do hope you have a good excuse.”

Hans anxiously responded “I’d have returned it sooner if it wasn’t for that damned Berlin Wall being built.” Their eyes briefly met before they erupted into gales of laughter.

From Guest Contributor Dougie Shepherd.

The Gift

Today the mailman came with a special delivery package. It was wrapped in plain brown paper and bore no return address. I was required to sign for it, which I did, and watched the mailman jump in an unmarked black van and speed away. I took the box inside and set it on the kitchen island. I wondered who might have sent it. I have no friends or family. It's a peaceful life. Then I heard the screaming—a man's screaming. Hard to make out at first, but once you keyed into it, you couldn't stop hearing it for anything.  

From Guest Contributor Meeah Williams

Wife's Helper

John flipped his wife’s shopping list and reached for the phone in his jacket. No charge.

He caught a nearby shopper.

“Excuse me, what are these,” he pointed to the list.

“Try the seafood counter,” was the reply.

Once there, John asked, “Do you have scal...?”

“Scallops?” the server interjected. “Half a pound? They’re pricey.”

John placed the package into his basket. “Where do I find this,” he showed the same man.

“Rubber scrapers in kitchen gadgets.”

“Thank you.”

When John arrived home, his wife unpacked the bags.

“I’m allergic to shellfish!” she shrilled. “Where are the scallionsand capers?”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.