The Portrait

The Duke of Westland stared down from his portrait. Walter studied the painting, admiring the duke’s powdered wig and frilled cravat.

Walter’s eyes widened as the duke stepped out of the gilded frame and strode towards him, extending a bejeweled hand. Walter grasped the duke’s icy palm and noticed that the lavish rings now adorned his own fingers. Puzzled, he looked up and met his own gaze. His other self winked, turned, and left the room.

Walter called out and raised his hands but his glittering rings thrashed against the inside of the canvas, causing his powdered wig to slip.

From Guest Contributor Cate Vance

Cate Vance writes from the mountains of Montana where she is inspired by misty mornings, brilliant days, and starry nights. Her short fiction has been featured in Sky Island Journal.

The Hobo

“Take my wedding rings. I don’t use them anymore,” the hobo said to me.

Zelda and I were outside Tiffany’s, but it was closed. We had just decided to elope. We had arrived at the store too late.

“You can’t be serious,” I said. “How much money do you want for them?”

“None. With my wife dead, I have no use for money.”

“Don’t you wish to keep the rings anyway?”

“No, you two need them more than me. I still have her picture. Go on. Take them.” He forced the rings into my hand.

“Thank you very much, sir.”

From Guest Contributor Mark Beddard

The Stakes

They sat across from each other at their favorite restaurant and it seemed everything was at stake.

She fussed with her rings and he rubbed at his tattoo and they said everything except the truth of their despair. It was easy to pretend their worlds were crumbling into ruins when what they really needed to say was that life had become a burden. It would be easier on their own but each wanted the other to blame and so they spun their lies into spit and tears until they realized nothing was at stake any longer except their favorite restaurant.