Crossroads

A skinny young guy, carrying a battered guitar case slung over his shoulder like a cotton picker’s sack, went down to the crossroads to catch a ride. The folks at home wouldn’t ever hear from him again. Rumors took the place of news – that he’d been shot and killed over a gambling debt, that he’d been lynched by a white mob, that he played guitar on the Chitlin’ Circuit with such violent energy that gravestones fell over and broke and that’s why now, every day around dawn, birds resume singing a centuries-old murder ballad specifically for our continued moral instruction.From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's newest poetry collection, Heart-Shaped Hole, which also includes examples of his handmade collages, is available from Laughing Ronin Press.

The Mad King

You timidly stepped inside the royal chambers, unnerved by the rumors of random beheadings and incoherent proclamations. Many people went for a sovereign audience and were never heard from again.

An old man sat the throne. He looked regal, not crazed, dressed in the golden robes and diamond crown of his august office. He stared sternly as, wobbling, you inched forward. In his lap sat a cat, which he stroked gently.

The man opened his mouth to speak and you dropped to one knee.

"The King has an announcement to make."

Everyone froze as the King opened its mouth.

"Meow."

Houghton

The dark forest overlooking Houghton was well known to be the home of sprites. Thomas Buchanan, of Oxford, had made the journey to confirm the rumors of their presence were true. He came with all the normal accoutrement, including a traveling dresser, a coterie of servants, and a pack of beagles.

The sprites are nearly impossible to find when they want to stay hidden but Buchanan was prepared. Through a mixture of alchemy and freshly-baked pudding, he attracted a number of the young fairies. The hunt had begun.

No one ever heard from Buchanan, or the villagers of Houghton, again.

The Red Lever

Danger...Danger...Danger!

The alarm system sounded throughout the starship, almost to the point of annoyance. Every crew member was well aware their lives were in imminent danger as they passed the event horizon.

Ensign Jones waited in the heaters. He understood little of their mission besides the rumors. But he hoped it was important. He didn't want to die for nothing. He had joined the Fleet hoping to become famous, and after eleven years he was still an ensign.

Jones yanked down the red lever. He didn't want to die for nothing, but they were all going to die.