First Thanksgiving

The turkey is in the oven, and I breathe in the flavor. The table is set, and the apple pie is cooling on the counter; the sweet smell makes me want to eat a piece before the family arrives.

This is the first Thanksgiving I’ve hosted since Brad’s passing, and this had been his favorite holiday. He’d always sneak a taste of the raisin stuffing I’d make special for him before anyone would arrive.

I’m sitting with my feet up sipping white wine, savoring the flavor when the doorbell rings.

I take a deep breath and head to the door.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

No Paradise

We left our gear on the shore and braved the jungle. Verdant, mossy plants, swollen fruits, normal snakes and spiders. All expected. But that smell. Like sulfur. Why? As earth and rocks piled up it permeated everything. It coated our hair and settled into the weave of our clothes. Warnings went unheeded. When we summited, it was too late. The crag gave way to a cavernous cleft. It glared a stony glare. Then the ground shuttered. Then it trembled. In those final fleeing moments, choked in smoke, death raining down, we understood the island's ancient name: The Great Giant's Buttocks.

From Guest Contributor Nicholas De Marino

Dare To Taste

“Ewwww...what’s that sickening smell?”

“You wouldn’t want to know,” Jack insisted. “Can you walk faster?”

“Why?”

“You don’t want to be stopped by she who lives there,” pointed Jack.

It could’ve been dried autumn leaves rustling in the wind, but they didn’t want to take a chance by looking back. They scurried past her unkempt lawn, not noticing the silhouette of someone sitting on the front porch.

“You boys hungry? Stew’s almost ready,” a woman’s voice shrieked.

The friends pretended not to hear.

“Rumour has it that she had four husbands,” Jack murmured. “No one has seen even one.”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Resistance

The Nazis arrived in Poland stomping down the street showing their authority. My mother was in the kitchen cooking dinner, the smell of vegetables wafting in the air, and my father had the radio on listening to the broadcast of the invasion. I sat next to him and stared out the window. For no apparent reason, one of the soldiers kicked a man that stood on the sidewalk with I’m assuming his young daughter. The girl screamed when the man collapsed in a heap. Was this the world now? No one was safe.

The next day I joined the resistance.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Rose

That vibrant scarlet striking against the snow like a bell ringer striking a bell, reverberating through your body, taking up your entire being. She entices me with her beauty, but her thorns tell me not to touch. The wind sings and she dances with grace. Her perfume is like the smell of the green earth that reminds you you’re alive. I love her beauty, I love her fragrance, I love her grace. I would like to take her to my wife. If she could see this rose the way I see it, then she'd understand the way I see her.

From Guest Contributor Kyla Syner

Stirring Up The Pots

“Everything under control?”

“Absolutely,” I responded, stirring the contents of the left pot, checking on the right.

Gravy bubbled up delicious aroma. Steamy chocolate swirled to the ceiling, taking me back to the time I watched mother make the same recipe.

“Darn!” my inner voice screamed. “Cornstarch lumps!”

I reached for the blender. Meantime I detected a slight burning cocoa smell and set the dessert sauce aside.

“Fifteen minutes left!” the announcer yelled.

A panel of judges awaited each contestant’s creations.

“Interesting combination with chicken,” one stated, sampling mine. “There’s brandy. Definitely chocolate. Cherries are divine. What’s your dessert sauce?”From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction regardless of the season or location she finds herself in.

Concentration

The debate about the affair between Jersey and Nathan’s wife largely resolves to one public codicil: does Nathan know? Most admit Nathan should know. In a town this small you can sense by smell the presence of others. But the knowledge is not certain. We wait for Nathan to show in Thole’s parking lot, or be sitting at The Credible Bakery. Pick-up and drop-off would be the most convenient reveals. Or perhaps Nathan knows and is unconcerned his wife is weekly on loan. Could be he appreciates the entertainment as much as we do. Not much else keeps us guessing.

From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner

Visiting A Mountain Top

Visiting a mountain top. The experience made me realize that time and rocks seem to stand still for a while. Far off view showing a mountain range haven been beaten smooth with time. Rugged edges of the stones reminded me that here, at least, the stones were sharp and not dull. From lack of water. For water makes everything smooth. Without the rain. The area was semi aired and contained the smell of earth. Making the entire experience surreal for a moment. Making me think of the adventure of the Hobbits and wizards and such. An adventure on a mountaintop.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

The Kiss

I can hardly think of a better way to say goodbye.To the sun and the moon, the water and the clouds,I've always wanted to live on a planet where the sky was blue.

I can hardly think of a better way to say goodbye.The light of a star. The smell of a blooming fruit tree. The kiss of a bare human hand.To the fading flowers on a winter's night

I can hardly think of a better way to say goodbye.To be one last person who will fall in love.Because in death, she is beautiful.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

The Good, The Bad, And The Stinky

It's said to be good luck for homeowners when a carpenter leaves a tool in your walls after a job. They might hide a fish in the vents if they get screwed over for money. It will take years for the smell to dissipate. Whoever built this house went a little too far. At least that's what I'll tell the police.

They're still looking for my partner. I suspect that she and the contractor left town with my money.

In my mind, I can still see the bodies, skin crumbling, bones exposed. The smell of flesh lingers inside my skull.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster