Who Am I?

When my parents told me the news that I was adopted, it didn’t shock me. I knew that I was different. I have black hair and deep brown eyes, and both my parents have hazel eyes and blond hair. I was told I took after my grandfather who died before my time. Conveniently, no one had pictures.

I decided to track my biological parents. Now we’re meeting for the first time at their home, and I have a lot of questions.

I stood outside pondering whether to go in since I may not like the answers.

I turned and left.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

They Were Her Rock

“You can do this!” “Be positive.” “You’re not alone.”

An assortment of rocks made up the flowerbed in front of a tall brick building. Some were scattered, others piled, many with painted pictures and handwritten messages.

Walking from the parking lot was perilous at best. Cheryl navigated the uneven sidewalk cautiously, crunching ice under heavy boots, pounding stale snow into powder.

The front glass-door opened. Volunteers greeted at the end of the entrance foyer away from the cold drafts of the outdoors. Someone sat at the reception counter awaiting questions.

Cheryl’s heart raced. Her radiation treatment was about to begin.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

What In Hell Is A Soul?

The super highway of data flowing back to the Dyson Sphere brought several questions to mind. Are all the math numbers being crunched supposedly from bitcoin to dogecoin just souls caught in the Mandela effect? Seemed illogical. And yet?

The more one reviews the simulator of life. The more questions one has to think about. Does thinking make anything right? No.And often times thoughts bring about new ideas. The question is any of this real?

Then the realization even if this was not real. Here I am today. And here you are too? Which begs the question in hell.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Honeymoon At Home

The cats prefer to keep their secrets or their distance. Never both. But Darling even looks different, like a Saturday morning Sylvester. The first time it happened, I asked my husband if he wanted some blueberry cake. He didn’t hear me, but Darling said, “Muah, I do.” He winked. He answered me from then on, but never in front of my husband. I began to come up with questions just to hear him talk. “What’s your favorite pie?” “Do you enjoy having a tail?” “Do you love me?” My husband planned a second honeymoon. Darling and I watched him pack.

From Guest Contributor Luanne CastleLuanne’s recent fiction can be found in Bending Genres, The Dribble Drabble Review, Does It Have Pockets, South 85 Journal, and The Ekphrastic Review. She has written several award-winning poetry books.

Time Travel

For nearly three weeks, I found myself in a state of utter confusion. Despite using my usual login details, I was unable to access any of my accounts. It was as though I wasn't myself, like something else had taken over my body. I entertained the possibility of theft or insanity, but my motherboard's lack of responsiveness left me with more questions than answers. It reluctantly crossed my mind that I had been transported elsewhere. However, how and why I would end up there was still a mystery. These unexplainable experiences have left me feeling perplexed and uncertain. Time travel.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Parts

There are so many parts. Kept in so many places. Compartments. Boxes. Bags. Bottles of fragile glass. Crumpled notes. Silent emotions. Screaming thoughts. Swept under the rug, in full view for all to see. No one cares to look. Feet itch. Throats burn and choke. There is pain. A fullness in the head. Legs are terrified. Hips want to cry. I don’t know why. Go, in search of questions. Lost with all your parts. Unable to fix. Unable to stop. Unable to flee. Unable to look you in the eye. Scared of what you already know. Parts of a whole.

From Guest Contributor Courtney King

The Sermon

Pastor Franzmeier was disturbed. For his upcoming Sunday sermon, he'd chosen the Book of Genesis. Why not start there? "In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth." But then the nagging questions occurred – Could it have been different? Had the Almighty blown it?

He sat back in his chair, placing his third cup of coffee on the table beside him. How many more would he need? As he massaged his temples, a booming voice from the heavens above shook the room, overturning the cup. "YOU CALL THAT BLOWING IT, FRANZMEIER? LET'S SEE HOW YOUR SERMON GOES THIS SUNDAY…"

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

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.

Kingdom

I want to assure you we are all safe here. We have adequate resources to wait until all of the infected have died. With our fortifications and firepower there is no way any plague carriers can get in here. Furthermore, all of you have been chosen for your talent, intelligence, and genes for repopulating the country when the time is right. As long as you trust me as your King, we will prevail against all challenges. Questions? Yes, my good friend Geraldine Jackson. King, have you looked in a mirror lately? You have a red splotch on your right cheek.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Brain Changes

My mind has lost its stickiness, my thoughts are stalling out. Questions I have no answers for are good for rewiring my brain, they say, weaving it through with logic. So why did I send some drawings to my blind friend? She said, “I can’t see, remember?” “Can’t someone look at them for you?” “Their ability to see doesn’t make me less blind.” I didn’t get whatever it was she was getting at, so I hung up. Maybe I should call her back. I could tell her about the new show at the Drawing Center. She might want to come.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell

Cheryl's books include several collections of poetry, and a series of novels called Bombay Trilogy. Recent work has appeared in journals from India, Ireland, UK, Canada, Greece, and the US.. Look her up on Facebook