Very Bad Wizards

Zorbus Glitterwand walked smugly into the Conclave. He was universally regarded as the worst wizard in the world, with several guild awards on his mantle at home testifying to that fact.

So he was disappointed to be met not by awed expressions and veiled jealousy, but rather sniggers and disdain. Did these amateurs forget who they were in the presence of?

The room became deadly silent. Zorbus turned to find his old nemesis, Otto Orriblé. He'd left the wizard for dead after their last duel, 300 years prior.

This night, the Conclave died in a hail of fire and maelstrom.

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

Fifteen Minutes

After a lifetime of deception, a sense of purposelessness persisted. Trapped in darkness, Sarah faced tests, time lost all meaning, hunger gnawed, and survival was vital. Guilt spiraled into self-blame. A presence loomed, with fear gripping her. A hidden cave, a reward, reality slipping, and power and control are beckoning. Uncertainty and choices lead to dark paths. Sarah complied, fearing the unknown. Urgency and the cave's depths awaited. A dangerous allure, dread mounting. Unease, an invisible stalker, the crunch of footsteps. The weight of a gaze, fear, and defiance entwined.

"I'm not here to make friends, I'm here to win!"

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

My Eyes Opened To Darkness

My eyes opened to darkness, as I fumbled around to find my phone. The bright screen hurt to look at, but pain was overcome by the satisfaction of knowing it was only 3 AM. Quickly, I confirmed the presence of my roommate's dark figure, fast asleep. I was yet to grow out of my fear of monsters in the dark; knowing she was here helped me sleep. Next time I awoke, she looked worried.

"Was someone else here?"

"What do you mean?" my stomach dropped.

"I just got back from Ritika's place, but my bed's been slept in."

I shrieked.

From Guest Contributor Vaishavi V. Jituri

The Island

Emmett had one wish, a quiet place to call his own.

He found his island floating above the planes of a fractured, blackened Earth. A small, dark place, untouched by the sun as it hovers with a dizzying presence. This place does not feel like it belongs to the world that Emmett knows, but it has been here since time began and will continue even when the sun collapses, when all life on Earth ends.

It contains nothing except itself (nothing but pure consciousness), for this is space without form or substance, and it is a terrible sight to behold.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

The Pit

There is an island floating above a shattered and charred plane of earth. It's a little black island, untouched by the sun, hovering above with an unsettling presence. It is awaiting something.

An eerie cosmic wind sweeps into a bottomless chasm beneath the island, the deepest pit ever known to exist.

It stretches from the center of the planet to the edge of reality's outer realms, a limitless abyss that devours anything thrown into it.

Nature's laws do not apply here.

This pit is the only law. It will not be content until it has devoured everything in the world.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Relationships

Anna reflected on her most cherished companions.

There wasn’t a room in her home that didn’t feel their presence. They helped her become organized and value the importance of scheduling her days.

When they stopped behaving as expected, especially at times of need, Anna fell apart.

Her son noticed the untimely demise. How she missed appointments or arrived late for others. How her personality took on an air of grumpiness.

“Let’s get you back on track,” he said, visiting one day.

Once he fitted batteries into the once silenced clocks, his mother bounced back.

Her time-focused companions ticked on.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction while trying to keep warm through a Canadian winter.

The Indestructible Presence

I am no stranger. I have existed as long as humans have been on this earth, perhaps even longer. I have had many names through the ages. It doesn’t matter what I have been called, the outcome is usually the same. Whether you are human or animal, I will make you sick. You may not die but you will suffer.

Margaret learned that I am real, even though I cannot be seen with the human eye. My brother, Ebola, made her ill in Nigeria. My sister, Hanta, did the same to a handyman in Colorado. I am the ubiquitous virus.

From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius

The Seventh Floor

The squad car with blue lights flashing lit up the night and announced a police presence before he entered the building.

The receptionist looked up at the cop coming through the door and smiled.

“Good evening officer. This is becoming a regular occurrence.”

“Yes, Ma’am, second Friday night this month,” said the cop.

“Let me guess, seventh floor? Mrs. Smith called about Frannie’s drinking party again?”

“Bingo.”

“We’ll try to settle Mrs. Smith down first, then talk with Frannie.”

“Thanks.”

The cop shook his head and asked, “How loud can they be? This is a retirement village for God’s sake.”From Guest Contributor N.T. Franklin

NT Franklin has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, CafeLit, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, among others.

Warm Memory

A friend says he thinks of Andy Warhol and his pop art when he sees Campbell’s soup cans. But when I see Campbell’s soup cans, I think of my mother.

When younger, I would come home from school on frigid days to the smell of Campbell’s tomato soup, anxious to sit and have the warmth sooth my chilled body.

Now an old man, I still sip Campbell’s soup and remember my mother’s radiance lighting up the room and her deep blue eyes sparkling under the overhead light in our old kitchen. She’s been gone years, but I feel her presence.

From Guest Contributor Lisa Scuderi-Burkimsher