Idiot

I'm not scared of ghosts,” Sue says.

“Me too,” I reply with a smile.

“But I’d like to become one,” she continues.

“Why?” I am amused.

“Because ghosts can travel anywhere, overhear people and uncover their secrets, know the past and the future.”

“Hmmm…I’m not sure about that." I laugh.

“How do you know? Isn’t that what planchette, ouija boards and seances are for? People call spirits, ghosts to question them.”

“Well….” I stop with a smile. Sue has always been an idiot. Her ghost is also an idiot. She still hasn't been able to figure out I killed her.

From Guest Contributor Sushma R Doshi

A Pushcart nominee, Sushma holds a PhD in International Studies from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. She likes to write and dream. She resides in India.

Smalltown

The thing about small towns is everyone knows everyone.

There's no secrets. Even people who think they're good at keeping secrets don't have any secrets.

Everyone knows who's cheating on who. Everyone knows who's sick and who's pretending. Everyone knows who's got money problems and who's being stingy out of spite. Everyone knows who's going away for a 'medical procedure' and who's secretly having a baby.

Everyone knows who's blood tastes the best and who's likely to put up the most resistance and therefore isn't worth the effort.

The thing about small towns is everyone knows who the vampires are.

Among The 1%

Alice had always known she was special. That knowledge had kept her strong before she could leave her toxic family, and supported her through subsequent poor relationship choices and lousy jobs.

She was seventy when the aliens arrived, bringing with them the secrets of a rejuvenation process that they promised would work for the great majority of Earthlings. She, however, was one of the unlucky few, doomed to a remaining lifetime of being condescended to by those who looked younger every day because they actually were. Being special, she belatedly realised, wasn’t always all it was cracked up to be.

From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar

Babylon

A city thrives and a city dies, from village to metropolis to graveyard. Now, the desert rocks hide secrets of millennia past, lives long forgotten, dreams of glory faded to black.

A man and woman once lived in Babylon. They fell in love, had children, populated the city with dreams of a family empire that would never end. The man and woman grew old together, surrounded by children and grandchildren, bolstered by laughter and love.

The city endured longer than the man and woman. It endured longer than the grandchildren. But the city didn't live forever. The family still endures.

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.

Happy Trails

The wind in the woods sounds like a river. It whispers across my face, soft and sweet and holy.

Dave packs the tent and I roll our bed bags. Soon we’re hoisting packs, tightening straps, stomping the last of the embers from the night before. Remembering bittersweet songs, old stories, and the secrets we’ve left behind with the trees and the stars.

The day warms. A robin twitters. Cicadas hum in the pines. Dave whistles the Happy Trails tune as we start down the path. And so the end begins, and I clutch this small, quiet death in my soul.

From Guest Contributor Jayna Locke

Them Big Oak Trees

At first, her followers thought it was intended as a metaphor. Every acorn is a big bang all its own. Every tree the mother of countless worlds.

But the famous scientist was not speaking metaphorically. She'd cracked the greatest secrets of the cosmos. Our universe was born inside a tiny seed, bursting into life, which in turn gave birth to more trees and more universes. The math was both terrifyingly simple and unfathomably beautiful. The world no longer required religion and, without Gods, there was no more war or poverty. Peace and love reigned.

Until a giant squirrel ruined everything.

The Ocean

It was an overcast humid morning and the church bells mingled with the foghorn. It was warm. Uncharacteristically so. This was his usual return time from fishing and his favorite time of day to be at sea. He skillfully edged his lobster boat along the dock, then stepped onto it holding the bow line. A practiced hand tied the cleat knot efficiently. He went up the gangway empty handed, unusual for him. The ocean had always been good to him and never gave up their secrets. He needed it to continue. His cheap wife will never cheat on him again.

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.

Winter's End

Sounds of breaking ice awaken her mind as she settles back down upon the thawing earth, with its cracks and pops as faults move forward at increasing speeds revealing hibernating secrets.

Inspiring streams, reverting from their crystalline form, fish returning from the spirit world greeted by crimson grass and creeping Phlox in efflorescence.

Rain continuously taunts her from all directions. She watches an ascending pale moon in its most majestic of phases. With welcoming pulsations, feeling her heart stir once again as its frozen arteries struggle to kick off winter's cold embrace.

The heat she now feels comes from within.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Keeping Secrets

“Don’t tell your mother,” whispered Harold, sweeping up porcelain pieces as Jacob walked in.

“Gee, Dad, she’ll explode when she finds out.”

“That’s why I ordered a replacement.”

When the doorbell rang, Carrie raced to the door.

“Did you order anything?” she asked Harold who happened to appear alongside.

“Yes I did,” he mumbled. “I’ll open it in my office, after my next Zoom meeting.”

At dinner, everyone gathered in the dining room. Carrie glanced at the China cabinet.

“Strange,” she uttered. “I’m certain that figurine has blonde hair, not red.”

Jacob turned his head the other way to smile.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada.