Roses

Apprehension accompanied me to my car. How would they react? With sadness? Indifference?I placed the bouquet lovingly into the trunk, holding back tears.

The intended beholders knew nothing of its history. Nor of the person who presented it to me. Roses, once of warmth and vivid pink, had crumpled to shades of aged dryness. Like his love did, when he left for another and I didn’t realize he meant it for real.

I set the vase onto my desk in the classroom, for my art students to observe, interpret and present their creativity onto canvas—of a life stilled.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

All I Ever Wanted

All I ever wanted was a small measure of happiness to call my own.

I'm not greedy. I'm only asking for my fair share.

Of course, what's fair for one person may not be fair for someone else. The best among us deserve more than the worst. My share should count for more than the bloodsuckers and sociopaths who do nothing but take. I'm a hard worker, so I've earned more than all the lazy people looking for a handout.

If my happiness comes at the expense of all the good-for-nothings in the world, they have only themselves to blame.

The Story Of An Artist

Troubled childhood, searching for escape. Persecuted for a vision of the world the world found uncomfortable.

One person called him a genius. Everyone called him a genius. His genius defined the zeitgeist of the moment. His genius transcended the moment and stood the test of time.

His paintings sold for millions. His paintings captured the hearts of millions. His paintings were copied by millions.

His influence was everywhere. His reputation cast a shadow over all the artists who followed. His fame is eternal.

Every person who knew him knew him to be an asshole. He was especially cruel to women.

Dream?

The doctor looked at me through his eyeglasses that sat perfectly on the rim of his nose.

“In your dream, you said a spirit you didn’t recognize handed you a feather.”

“Yes, but the figure was only a cloudy shape of a person.”

“What do you suppose the feather represents, Charlie?”

“My father used to train pigeons before he died in the car accident. Maybe that?”

“Possibly. Time to stop. We’ll continue this next week.”

When I arrived home, I felt something in my pants pocket. I reached in and my eyes widened. It was the feather from my dream.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Authority

I know only one enemy in this world, that person who holds power over me. No matter how slight the exercise of authority, how minor the inconvenience, any attempt to coerce me in any manner, even if I would have otherwise been inclined to act in the desired fashion, will be met with the strongest disagreement within my power.

You insist I should eat more vegetables. I will only be eating meat from now on. I am a rebel. I am the rebellion. Tell me what to do one more time, and I'll be the leader of a third-grade revolution.

Tank Man

No one knows where he came from. He simply appeared on the streets from nowhere.

He stood defiantly, one man against a nation, a beacon of hope, a harbinger of doom.

He became a symbol around the world. To many, he was an emblem of brave resistance. To some, he was a token of what one person can accomplish against all odds.

Nothing is known about who he is or what made him believe one man was able to stop an army.

No one knows what happened to him afterwards. But the truth is everyone knows what happened to him.

Drunk

First, there's a moment when you are just crossing the threshold from complete oblivion, wrapped in blankets and darkness, to reemerge into the light of the living. You are not a person yet. You have no recollections or anxieties. This is probably what it was like right before you were born.

You don't realize you have a hole in your memory until you're halfway to the bathroom. How did you get home last night? Where's your car? Why is the floor slanting away from you?

You stare at yourself in the mirror and promise you're never going to drink again.

Person To Notify

"Have I reached Frieda Grompkin?"

"Yes." Frieda did not recognize the voice nor number on her phone.

"I'm calling from the hospital. It's about Ed."

"Ed?" She hadn't seen her ex-husband in 6 years. "What?"

"You're listed as the person to notify. He needs emergency surgery after the accident."

There was some mistake in the record. Why was she listed?

"Tell him he's overdue on his last three alimony payments." It was best not to say, "Tell that bum…"

"He may not make it."

No more payments? But, no more Ed?

"Oh. In that case, thank you for the call."

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Time Tells All

The CIA flying the planes in 9/11 is awkward. To realize 6.5 trillion dollars spent to kill five hundred thousand terrorists at a cost of 8 million dollars per person is a lie? Making the question why pay for war when it's all a lie? RMS Lusitania 1982 documents revealed it carried ammunition. Remember the Maine 1976 investigation cleared Spain with the boiler being determined the cause of the explosion. Two million Vietnamese people died because of the Gulf of Tonkin event which never occurred. To realize Iraq had no weapons of mass destruction. Syria did not gas people.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Gaslighting After Dark

As the new employee at the haunted mansion, I quickly realized that my job is to communicate with the ghosts rather than clean up after them. Neither appeal to me very much.

To tell you the truth, I don't believe in ghosts. That's one of the first questions Ralph asked during my interview, and I straight up told him I wasn't the kind of person who had fanciful notions about such things. He said that was just fine. It works better when you don't believe.

It turns out that the undead are just as susceptible to gaslighting as the living.