Crazy Beat

The music thrummed and the people spasmed to the beat. They called it dancing. Martinez, observing from the shadows, thought it looked more like a crazed ritual or a medical disorder.

"Should we put a stop to it?"

Her partner shrugged his shoulders.

"Hard to believe this used to be popular."

"The dancing or the music?"

Martinez thought for a moment. "Both. Thank God it's been banned."

Her bosses at the enforcement authority feared the dancing would spread beyond the nursing home, but Martinez was certain no sane individual in the year 2045 would find pleasure in such deviant behavior.

Blood

“Yes, I drink human blood, but only for ritual purposes.”

“The creepy man in the haunted house said that?” Timmy asked.

“That’s what he said, really,” Jonathan replied. “Robert said so. And he’s in high school, so you know it must be true.”

“Well, I’m not trick-or-treating there Friday. You can go alone if you want.”

“Timmy, don’t you see how cool it would be? You should come with us.”

“Sounds scary, not cool.”

As Timmy ran off, Robert spoke to Jonathan. “Talk him into coming, where else are we going to get blood for the creepy guy to drink?”

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.

Demonstration

I’m going to eliminate demonstration presentations from my Speech course. I was erasing the board after class tonight when a student approached me, asked if I’d approve a ritual for the assignment. “I’ll need to make an altar, bring a knife.”

I turned to face her, “Sorry… no, Moira, that’s not okay.”

She narrowed her eyes, whispered words I barely caught, “within wood…split a stone…find me there.”

I smiled weakly, “Was that a spell?”

She stormed out. I gathered my books and bag and walked quickly to the car. Under my blouse, my jasper cross tingled warm against my skin.

From Guest Contributor Yvonne Morris

Yvonne is the author of Mother was a Sweater Girl (The Heartland Review Press). Her most recent work has appeared in the Santa Clara Review, The Write Launch, and Friday Flash Fiction.

Hylas

The journey with Hercules was arduous. We sailed the ominous sea, and the storm destroyed our ship. Stranded, with few survivors, I searched for a lake to quench our thirst.

As I came to a clear, calm stream, a lovely naked woman rose before me, her long black hair drenched and covering her breasts. She pulled me under with the strength of a man, as other women surrounded me.

“Relax, Hylas, we are here to please you.” Her voice melodious and soothing.

I drifted for what seemed an eternity and surfaced as if nothing had happened.

The ritual began again.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Abedabun

Abedabun weaves baskets while her father makes arrowheads. The sun is warm against her face and she tires of the mundane ritual but does not complain when her father rubs a droplet of sweat from her cheek with affection.

Her mother is by the river collecting herbs, humming in tune with the birds, while her brother and sister collect insects for amusement.

Hiawatha, the finest young man in the tribe, approaches Abedabun and her father with a token of marriage, a deer slung over his broad shoulders.

She stops her work and looks to her father.

Hiawatha’s token is accepted.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Painful Meditations Of A Modern Day Buddha

Kevin enjoyed the contemplation of his morning walks, the perfect ritual for tuning out from his devices. Sure, he'd steal the occasional glance at his phone, but only to ensure he wasn't missing an important message.

By 9am, the sidewalks were normally empty, so when the preteen on his bicycle came wheeling towards him, Kevin was surprised. He expected the kid to move into the grass or skip off the curb, yet he continued straight towards him, until Kevin had no choice but to step aside.

The anger rising inside him at the inconvenience was certain to ruin his day.

Good Bye World

The blood of the homeless worked nicely. I was able to refine the unimaginably gruesome ritual and it worked, I stopped aging! I am writing this to repent for my sins and to warn others. Now the only life I will take is my own, to ensure that the minute details of the sickening ceremony die with me. Always remember that one virtuous short life is worth more than a hundred long lives of evil like the one I have lived. I now say goodbye to the world I have known longer than anyone else in the history of man.

From Guest Contributor Kevin Pentalow