Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving, a time to spend with family. The turkey is in the oven filled with my famous bread stuffing, the pumpkin pie is cooling, and the vegetables are ready to go.

I sip wine and watch the parade waiting for my company. It’s half past 4 o’clock. I told everyone to be here over an hour ago for anti-pasta.

My cell phone rings.

“Hey, Myra, sorry, but we all came down with the stomach flu. We’re not going to make it this year. Hopefully, we’ll see you at Christmas.”

I pack up my dinner and take it to a shelter.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Rolled And Stoned

He: I know I’m a Midnight Rambler, but I can come to your Emotional Rescue. Won’t you Tell Me you want to Live With Me? I am through with Honky Tonk women.

She: This could be the Last Time I tell you - Jumpin’ Jack Flash is my boyfriend. You Can’t Always Get What You Want, you just want to tell people I am Under Your Thumb.

He: I can’t get no Satisfaction. I thought that we could have a rosy future, but now I will just Paint It Black. Won’t anyone Gimme Shelter? I don’t have a Heart Of Stone.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Doug lives in Oregon (spelled wrong / pronounced right) and escaped actuarial work to hike, snowshoe, volunteer, and string words together.

Under The Rainbow

For an instant, just before noticing the new bank of threatening clouds conspiring on the darkened horizon, it seemed like everyone knew how to think, knew what to think; everyone knew how to feel. No one could take their eyes off the rainbow until it faded—as all rainbows always do—and the first few burning drops of the new and far more furious downpour, promising only flood, destruction, and despair appeared.

By the time the storm reached its new-found fury, everyone had given up seeking shelter. No one had any recollection whatsoever of anything even vaguely resembling a rainbow

From Guest Contributor Ron. Lavalette

Ron. Lavalette’s many published works, including his debut chapbook, Fallen Away, can be found HERE.

House Guest

A puppy was shivering in freezing wind and Bholu decided to bring it home and provide shelter for a night. He hid it from his granny, but as soon as Bholu dozed off to sleep the puppy came out and started licking the old granny's feet. The poor lady screamed and woke up from her sleep. The puppy got scared and hid under a cupboard in the room. Granny caught hold of a torch and flashed it under the cupboard. She saw two sparkling eyes gazing at her. She pulled it out and wondered how it got into the house. 

From Guest Contributor Preeti Singh

Preeti is an Indian French interpreter, international author, and scriptwriter. In her free time, she loves to play sundry characters for television series. 
You can check out her latest book at https://www.infiniterealmsbookstore.com/product-page/remember-me-not-by-preeti-singh

And follow her at Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/preeti

Twitter: https://mobile.twitter.com/PreetiWrites

A Night On An Empty Skywalk

The skywalk at the Santa Cruz railway station which connects SV Road in the west to the highway in the east was empty that night. He took his time to walk eastward, each slow step was counted so as to not reach shelter too quickly. Sleep was not cheap.

On the eastern end, another man was on the run from the police with a gun in his hand, having outdone the police. The emptiness of the skywalk seemed like the best possible thing. He could make his escape. Only then he saw a well-dressed man walking lethargically on the bridge.

From Guest Contributor Debarun Sarkar

Contrast

A painting pulled me from across the room. Past spectators scrutinizing other exhibits. Past a man commenting on contemporary art.

I wanted to meet the artist and ask what had inspired him.

Hut alone in a field. The dark evening sky contrasted with flaxen wheat. No people or animals.

“Do you like it,” a man asked me.

“Too depressing,” I answered. “Looks familiar.”

“It’s the toolshed on my parents’ farm. As a boy, I took shelter there during a sudden storm.”

“So, you’re the artist,” I exclaimed eyeing him.

I left the gallery realizing we were once classmates at school.From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.