Deep Slumber

Every part of my body ached; and my hair was pasted to the pillow from sweat. My lips were dry, yearning for water, but I couldn’t drink with the tube down my throat. I’m in the hospital, but what happened?

There’s movement around me, but it’s just a blurred mess. My head feels as if it was struck with a hammer, the pain shooting down to my neck.

I heard voices.

“She needs surgery to remove the swelling. Sarah suffered severe head trauma in the accident.”

Is that a doctor?

Slowly I’m being moved and sedated into a deep slumber.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

River Of Memories

Fishel sent his wife and two boys away even though Adella insisted they stay until his fever broke. He wouldn’t hear of it. The “Wolves” could arrive at any moment, and he didn’t want to risk his family.

Fishel’s temperature raged, and he became delirious, his wife a constant vision. Too weak to travel, he went to bed, fell into a deep slumber, and dreamt of his family.

Stomping and yelling awakened him from his pleasant dream.

Four Nazi’s burst through the door, guns pointed at Fishel’s face.

“Get up Jew.”

He obeyed and left a river of memories behind.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Crow And Bear

NATURE SUBMISSION:

Bear walked through the woods, surveying the scenes of spring. He found it beautiful, and it all belonged to him. Every creature ran at the sight of him, leaving him to meander in peace.

So it was with great surprise that he looked up and saw Crow staring down at him.

"Fly away Crow, or I shall eat you."

"You don't scare me Bear."

"You'll be scared when you're inside my belly."

Crow laughed. Every spring was the same. Bear woke from his slumber and threatened her. He was too stupid to remember the forest belonged to Crow, not Bear.

From Guest Contributor Debbie Cox

Unconventional Ray

“I need to take another X-ray,” the doctor said.

“Why?” asked the patient.

“Not ‘Y’. ‘X’ as in X-rated.”

“What is X-rated?” The patient was awakening from post-surgery slumber.

A nurse entered the hospital room. The doctor left.

“So, how does it look?” the patient asked the nurse. Realizing his covers were off and she was peering down at him below the waist.

“I mean, my ankle.”

The nurse funneled her eyes through his. Her full lips smiled at the corners. Giggling followed.

“You’re on the mend, Ray,” she said. “Dr. Hoo just wants to take one more X-ray.”

“Who?”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, flash fiction and short stories. She’s published in Canada, United States and Europe in journals, anthologies and online including Boston Literary Magazine and Friday Flash Fiction. She won several poetry contests, was shortlisted in a short story competition and is a member of two writers’ groups where she resides.

Sunday Morning

Polystyrene-on-glass calls pause. Unknown bird waits. Magpie’s hoarse rattle bobs upon chill breeze, followed by one clipped caw. Wind and distant slumber.

Dog yelp, muffled by intervening streets, punctuates keyboard-click.

Repeated.

Nothing.

Wheeze of diesel engine and hiss of pneumatic tyres upon Tarmac cue pair of voices in garbled conversation, growing as they near.

The dog dips paw into arena of proper barking before relenting, wounded by unanimous indifference.

Then...timeless chorus of seagulls.

All cede to a hesitant wind under sombre sky.

Footfalls.

Children’s voices shatter tableau, announcing subdued urgency of Sunday morning.

Bleakness prevails, yet wind chimes sound.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

The Night's Hope For A Better Tomorrow

Dreams projected on a ceiling from a restless mind. A vision of a better tomorrow plays from the imagination onto the stucco. With pleading hope for happiness to join the rising sun, the reality of sadness can be temporarily cast aside. Muscles relax and the burden lessens with the promise. Eyes close and colors dance a firefly ballet on the back of eyelids. Fantasies and nightmares disturb the slumber but recede with the buzz of an alarm clock. Golden rays of butterscotch pour through the glass and warm the face. I rise, we all rise… with hope in our hearts.

From Guest Contributor Jordan Altman

Nereus’s Daughter

One day a pretty forest nymph, who soundlessly slumbered in her woods, awoke to find a disheveled ape hovering above her. Sweating. Grunting. Drooling. About to dock between her meaty, leggy things.

The nymph screamed and clawed at the god’s eyes, shouting at Priapus to stop or else she “would tell her father.”

In response, Priapus merely hit the ground beside her head with a curled up fist, hooting in laughter.

Nereus’s daughter saw no other option but to ask a kinder god than Priapus for assistance. Not twenty seconds after, the nymph turned into a flowering pink lotus tree.

From Guest Contributor Eliot Gilbert

What It Felt Like To Die

I plummet to the earth--the emerald field I stood upon moments before.

The one who injured me was merely a streak of shadows which approached, just as quickly as he vanished.

Below my navel is a tiny puncture. What was once unblemished flesh is now a faucet, bathing soil with my body's vital broth.

I realize my aorta is severed.

Clouds bob and flicker, bearing the faces of my family. I panic, fervidly trying to grasp them--their expressions are indifferent, unresponsive.

Instantly, tranquility engulfs me. Darkness eclipses my vision. I surrender, relishing the divine slumber that beckons me.

From Guest Contributor L. Michelle Corp