They Were Her Rock

“You can do this!” “Be positive.” “You’re not alone.”

An assortment of rocks made up the flowerbed in front of a tall brick building. Some were scattered, others piled, many with painted pictures and handwritten messages.

Walking from the parking lot was perilous at best. Cheryl navigated the uneven sidewalk cautiously, crunching ice under heavy boots, pounding stale snow into powder.

The front glass-door opened. Volunteers greeted at the end of the entrance foyer away from the cold drafts of the outdoors. Someone sat at the reception counter awaiting questions.

Cheryl’s heart raced. Her radiation treatment was about to begin.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

At Low Tide

In the wet sand, Sally, Chris, and Mel worked on their sand castles. The tide would soon turn. A few beach walkers stopped to observe the construction site.

"Look, two sand castles, and...?"

And what was that third thing? What the hell was Mel up to?

He looked up from his burnt, sandy hands that he thought were forming a castle also.

The walkers moved on toward the parking lot. They were long gone by high tide, as were the two proper sand castles and memories of them. But, still, they wondered what the hell had Mel been up to?

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Concentration

The debate about the affair between Jersey and Nathan’s wife largely resolves to one public codicil: does Nathan know? Most admit Nathan should know. In a town this small you can sense by smell the presence of others. But the knowledge is not certain. We wait for Nathan to show in Thole’s parking lot, or be sitting at The Credible Bakery. Pick-up and drop-off would be the most convenient reveals. Or perhaps Nathan knows and is unconcerned his wife is weekly on loan. Could be he appreciates the entertainment as much as we do. Not much else keeps us guessing.

From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner

Just Looking

Robots Contest Entry:

Carl pulled over beside a car in the parking lot and said, “Wow. Look at that Maserati.”

Duke replied, “I thought that you were a one car guy. Aren’t you crazy about Josie?”

“Sure, but a car can look, can’t he? You’re in love with Sheila, but you stare at good looking women.”

“That’s fair, but I didn’t know that it worked with cars as well as people.”

“Think about it Duke, humans gave AI to cars, shouldn’t we act like you?”

“Guess you are right. I’ll pick up the groceries, and we can get back to our better halves.”

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Runaway

The sliver of moon that hung in the dark sky was the only source of light on that cold evening. It had been raining for hours, and the parking lot was now a collection of puddles. Exhausted after a long day, the woman trudged across the lot to her car. She despised leaving work late, since she was still adjusting to her new life in the city. Preoccupied with thought, she didn’t realize that her new life was already over until she reached her car and found a note tucked under her windshield. “Found you,” it screamed in his handwriting.

From Guest Contributor Kelsey Swancott

Kelsey is a senior majoring in English with a minor in Visual Arts and Spanish while also being involved in the campus literary magazine Angles. She plans on furthering her education by getting her master's degree in English as well.

Dangerous

A young couple ambled into a strip mall parking lot. Carla wrapped herself around Thomas.

“I’m making a point,” she said.

“Cool.”

“I want to show someone I’m in love.” He smiled. “An old man.”

He frowned, and Carla nodded toward a lone figure staring from across the street. She kissed Thomas hard, quick. “He found me on the dating site. We had coffee. I was, like, your picture was 30 years old! Think your Cary Grant charm would win me over?”

“Cary …?”

“George Clooney?”

Thomas pouted.

“But it’s you I love. Now go put a scare into him.”

From Guest Contributor Chris Callard

The Way The World Ends

At first I thought it was a barrel of whiskey strapped to the back of the gangly old man, stooping him over to half in the parking lot. Snow swirled in orange light clouds. As he shuffled closer, I realized it was an egg, yellowish, enormous, bound with dirty ropes. There were scratches on it as long as my arm, and I wondered whether they came from the inside or the outside. I loaded the groceries into the car and pushed my cart at him.

“That’s not how it works,” he muttered, head down. “I have to carry it myself.”

From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat

Star Wars Fan

I bought my movie ticket a week ago, to see Rogue One. Now the day of, a heavy rain storm caused flooding and traffic. I had to make it there. I sat in the car stuck behind honking car horns thinking of last year’s Star Wars film and Princess Leia’s recent death. A tragedy. Okay, the traffic started moving. I had fifteen minutes to get there, park, and buy popcorn.

The parking lot was unusually empty. I found a spot close to the theater. After I ran through puddles, the sign on the door read closed due to inclement weather.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Parking Lot Poet

I sit and think.

Of what, I'm not sure. As this mind has tendencies to wander. Wanting perfection, but tending to squander.As the ideas flow as dam water, next thing you know you're down the river. I gasp, adrenaline flows to capture the shore. Just to be able to hold to one original idea.

I sit and think.

In ways of harnessing this cursed gift, since frustration foreclosures many of them before they leave the pen. In a sense I'm the hopeless poet I so ironically created. The oxymoron of a poet's life sitting in a empty parking lot.

From Guest Contributor UInk Poetry