Wheatfield With Crows

He presented himself at Licensed Brothel No. 1 and asked with formal politeness for the girl named Rachel. When she appeared, dressed for work in stockings and a slip, he handed her his ear (or, more precisely, the lower half of his left ear, wrapped in cloth). “Guard this object carefully,” he said without prelude, and you would’ve thought he was bestowing on her a fabulous piece of art. Then he turned and walked away. She was accustomed to getting freaky requests from men in her boudoir, but this was a first. The police said call if it happened again.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Chopping Along

Knife steadied, I proceeded to chop sweet pepper. Choppy chords of a Chopin prelude dominated the airwaves as the sound of an overhead chopper faded. “Anything else to add to our Chopin list? Sorry, couldn’t help it,” husband laughed. Lucky he’s not on my chopping block, I thought. “Don’t forget. Mother’s here for dinner tonight,” I said. Onions appeared next on my chopping board. “What are you making, Mom?” I turned around to answer: “Vegetarian Chop Suey.” “No lamb chops? That’s okay,” my boy surmised. “Don’t think grandma’s choppers can take anything tough. Does she know how to use chopsticks?

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband and stuffed animals and many friends.