Transient

Leaving is always hard, especially when you think you’ve finally found a place to settle. Among the things I’ll miss about this world and its nascent civilisation are the secret songs hummed by pylons, and the brooding silences of daytime streetlights. Perhaps its denizens will evolve someday to not need that artificial interconnectedness that’s so important to them, but I won’t be around to find out. My time, like theirs, has expired: the Vsanic are here, camouflaged, probing, scouting the planet, and I, a fugitive from their cold, imperial justice, must leave before they find me. Time to run, again.

From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar

Two Step

Mike heard the siren and stood up from his seat, gathering his belongings. The dance continued.

Everyone was charging to the front, but Mike strolled at his own speed. No need to rush things.

He thought of his favorite band, and wondered whether he'd ever get to see them perform when this was all over.

One of their songs blared in his earbuds. They weren't allowed music players but most of the officers looked the other way about such infractions. Give a dying man whatever he wants.

Gun in hand, Mike rounded the corner into the line of enemy fire.

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

Songs Of Memory

Mother Spider began to sing, and a harmony of words awoke the web of memories. I searched for that moment of allure in those endless dark trees when she first spoke. There were so many expressions on my tongue, but I couldn't remember them all.

"How do you know all that?"

She whispered, "How do I know anything?"

Her words became my words, rising and falling, flickering and weaving as she sang.

I learned everything from Mother Spider, as did all the other spiders who heard her voice long before the flood of darkness fell and created those endless woods.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Dancing With The Boss

“Listen...it’s that song where, in the music video, he picks someone from the audience and starts dancing with her.”

“He has better songs.”

“Did you know she became his wife?”

“You got it wrong. She’s an actress.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before she became famous for her role in that sitcom, she appeared in commercials and music videos.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to, but check him on the web, search for his wife and check her picture.”

“...”

“It isn’t the same one, is it?”

“Could I have been wrong all these years?”

“Looks like it.”

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé Suys (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

The Beauty Of Summertime

Sarah sat on the beach swooshing her toes through the hot sand. In the near distance, two young girls were building a sand castle, arguing about who was the better swimmer. Sarah turned up the radio and tuned them out. She closed her eyes and let the warm ocean breeze sooth her tension. With a smile on her face she listened to the waves, in between her favorite songs.

“What a beautiful day,” she said.

Within minutes the sun disappeared and it began to thunder and lightning. Seconds later Sarah was drenched and running to her car, the day ruined.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher