The Same

The birds flew by

as the wind blew past.

Cars come cruising, crossing coastlines.

They're the same.

Birds fly free with the ocean breeze

and the cars follow along to their graceful flight.

They're the same, together in the light.

One flies,

one drives.

They're the same.

An endless road.

An infinite sky.

They're the same.

It's no race,

they're at the same pace.

The road twists and the car does not slow.

The bird resists the wind and flies high.

They're the same.

The road is black and yellow,

and the sky is blue and white.

They're the same.

From Guest Contributor Daniel Duong

Wars Have Been Started Over Less

When we first encountered the Alavariuum, great expectations immediately spread across Earth. Not only were they a technologically-advanced extraterrestrial race from a thirteen-planet civilization 23 light years away, but they were friendly and offering to help us expand beyond our martian colonies.

Lately, many of the negotiators have admitted their enthusiasm is dampened. While still congenial, most of the committees and protocol meetings have become bogged down in naming conventions. The Alavariuum insist that every significant planet and star be referred to using their complicated symbology, and we'll be damned if we'll let anyone tell us what to call Earth.

The Other Side Of Obsession

Nothing was as he remembered. Not the walk, with the chipped and uneven flagstones, nor the dusty, desiccated garden, nor the house itself. The two decades had ravaged the property and Stephen immediately regretted its purchase.

As a youth, his mother brought him here on Saturdays. He'd sit in the chamber to the rear of the kitchen reading library books, hoping the owner's children failed to notice his presence.

The Packards had long since moved on to a much more modern estate. It seemed he was still trying to catch up in a race only he knew they were running.

Conquest Sapiens

Winter today felt like death. Sor glared at the obvious trail leading to his concealment.

The scentless pale race had carried out a callous pogrom against his kind. He was the last. They’d extracted the cave tribe like so many snails from their shells.

The speed and nature of the slaughter had appalled. Herded into a clear space, Gargar and her people had seemed to shrink, then vanish in light when the captors had waved short sticks in their direction.

Better to die fighting.

Sor tensed. Someone– His crouching body disintegrated.

"The planet’s sterilized," the marine announced over her com.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

First Contact Downer

First contact occurred in the year twenty twenty-two.

The spaceship lands on a cold rainy day. December the seventh at eight fifteen in the evening.

Many high-ranking government officials from around the world are lined up by the tarmac waiting to greet the visitors.

Around the landing site crowds have gathered from all around the globe. Hoping to get a glimpse of aliens on this historic occasion.

A sliding hatch opens and a group of aliens depart the ship.

The two sides make small talk. There is great disappointment when earthlings learn the race of aliens is called Kill Humans.

From Guest Contributor Denny E. Marshall

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.