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

Our Understanding

Will you wait for me? I was distracted in the company of voices. Remembered you when I realized the time.

I race, feet positioning haphazardly over cobblestone. Last narrow lane weaves through a city's historic gate, connects me to the main square where I met you yesterday. Where pigeons scrambled for tossed seeds. Tourists watched.

I see you in the same location with the sun setting behind you. Your body pivots, face gestures into countless expressions. Your hands deliver a new story, in silence.

When you see me, your eyes smile. For you know I understand your art of pantomime.From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her fiction and poetry have recently been published online and in journals at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, A Story in 100 Words, 101 Words, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, and espresso stories. Her nonfiction has appeared in flash fiction chronicles and in Wild Lands Advocate. Krystyna resides in Alberta, Canada.

Pigeons With Pants

In an effort to eradicate the disease carrying pigeon population from the city, the mayor signed into law an ordinance requiring all pigeons within the city limits to wear pants. His hope was that they would be forced to flee the city as they did not possess the dexterity necessary to fashion their own clothing. He underestimated the pigeons’ solidarity and the ordinance instead sparked an uproar in the garmentless pigeon community. The pigeons quit their jobs as letter carriers in protest and decided to focus their efforts solely on their cynical hobby of defecating on large man-made objects.

From Guest Contributor, Sean Franklin

A Wonderful Guy

At some point in his late sixties, his life became a cliche.

Most afternoons were spent on the park bench, feeding the pigeons. He stopped buying clothes more than a decade ago. He was mortified at wearing anything that might be considered fashionable, for fear of being laughed at.

He voted Republican. He drove a Cadillac, erratically. He visited the cemetery every Sunday.

Even his children knew their roles, urging him to move into a nursing home.

So close to the end, these routines were all he had left. That, and his memories of playing the lead in South Pacific.