Runnin’ On Adrenaline

I’m amazed at how much energy I can muster after that dreaded phone call. It doesn’t matter it’s 3:00 AM. I can sacrifice sleep. I’m dressed in a flash and on the road racing to the hospital, running through hallways, arriving before your final breath, “I’m here Dad, I love you.”

You whisper, “Always remember Helen, you’re my queen of queens.”

And after arranging your funeral, packing your clothes, arguing with my siblings about who gets what, I drag myself home, plop down on the bed thinking I’ll pass out from exhaustion, instead, I think of you and tears erupt.

From Guest Contributor Charles Gray

Only Beauty Survives

The king delighted in varying which crowns he wore. One day he’d wear a crown of gold; the next, a crown of silver or of iron, or even a crown eccentrically fashioned from barbed wire. When he wore the latter, he was always surprised when blood ran in rivulets into his eyes. The queen, meanwhile, hated anyone who might be thought more beautiful than she was. She frequently sent assassins throughout the land to eliminate all possible rivals. That sound isn’t thunder, people would say, but an assassin rapping on the door of a cottage until his knuckles are raw.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of The Death Row Shuffle, forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.

The Queen

HUBRIS CONTEST:

She relished her place at the center of the colony. All her needs were met. Her food was brought to her, as well for her nursing children. She had thousands of workers at her beck and call, digging, constructing, foraging. Mating took place whenever she felt the urge. Even her waste was disposed of for her.

Taken care of in this manner, was it any wonder that she could expect to live for as long as ninety years? Every day, nothing but leisure.

She thought herself fortunate, but all the other ants thought of her as nothing but a slave.

From Guest Contributor Wilson Edwards

The Witness

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

Her footman stood in the midst of the crowd on the grounds of the White Tower. He could see the scaffolding, the glistening executioner's sword, and the block where his lady would place her head. Then, Lady Anne climbed onto the scaffolding.

Holding back his tears, the footman listened to the Queen's prayerful last words. He watched as the attendants removed her mantle of ermine and blindfolded her. She knelt down.

With one swift stroke, the French swordsman ended the life of Queen Anne.

The footman turned to his friend and cried, "If only she had given him a son."

From Guest Contributor Deborah Shrimplin

The Last Voyage

Our 93-year-old dad, without his hearing aids or even his three-pronged cane, still managed somehow to give everyone the slip, sneaking off to Monte Carlo Night down in the cellar of the dream factory, where he coolly turned over his hole card and won the pot, after which he started back upstairs, but on the way, and despite struggling for breath, charmed a roller derby queen on a royal visit out of her skates, so instead of ever returning to his rooms at the assisted living boarded a ship they say was built in the same shipyard as the Titanic.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera from Cajun Mutt Press. He co-edits the journals Unbroken and UnLost.

Dysfunction 3

“Some days you just can’t write,” he said aloud.

The citrus-scented candle was not impressed. The flame didn’t even react to his big sigh. It sat on the side table oozing atmosphere but no empathy.

“Oh yeah?” he snapped at it. “When you’re burnt out that’s the end of you. I prevail.”

Hiatus… Odd looks in his direction and muttered comments from bar patrons fused as he tried to blink his tired eyes clear. In the bright honey light, they became drones attending the queen behind the counter: alkaloid aromas their insectoid murmurs of my intrusion.

The page remained blank.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

End Of The Line

Grace ran her finger over the word.

TERMINATED

She over-pronounced each syllable. The word crashed off her computer’s screen. The “t” chipped the floor with its hook. The “e” cracked the tile, and the rest of the letters tumbled into the void.

“Didn’t tell me in person.” The night beacon, bedroom clock blinked 11:15.

In her unkempt kitchen, she knelt beside the sink. Ants crawled, a living chain of perfect order. They bypassed her bait. Scouts explored on. Workers followed trails through the cracks. But in the hive, the queen risked nothing.

Life balanced on the pinhole of a hilltop.

From Guest Contributor Embe Charpentier

No One Else To Blame

She stared out the window every day, waiting for her husband to return from sea. Whether she wanted him to return or not was an open question in her heart and mind, but it was her duty to wait so wait she did.

The war had ended years ago. The other husbands had either returned or been confirmed dead. Only hers was still unaccounted for.

She was Queen in his absence. The power was nice and she bowed to no man, but sometimes it would have been nice to have someone to blame for the rotten economy besides the Gods.

To Curtsy Properly

She was forced to curtsy from a young age. The Queen required the girl to bow with the proper technique, and when she failed, the punishments were severe. The monks were called upon to drill her at all hours, contorting her body with their chaste hands until the proper form was hammered into her forever.

For her part, she deserved all the harsh treatment as she was particularly recalcitrant. She denied the Queen's authority and would have gladly ripped out the queen's eyes or stabbed her with the crown. She would never forgive the Queen for murdering her father.

The Responsible Monarch

"The queen bee thinks nothing of sacrificing a hundred soldiers to protect the hive. The queen ant goes even further, commanding thousands of her drones to forfeit their lives, all in the name of the greater good. But what you'll never see is the Queen putting herself in danger. The Queen knows that without her, there can be no society."

"I know. As Queen of England, I'm an important symbol. But I don't understand what that has to do with me having one more piece of sponge cake."

"We don't want Charles inheriting one day sooner than necessary, your Majesty."