Jason And The Argonauts

Jason, hero of Thessaly, rightful heir to the throne of Iolcus, is a name synonymous with adventure. The quest for the golden fleece, brave Jason, standing tall at the stern of his ship, ready to do battle or challenge the gods if necessary.

Somehow, the most sensational part of Jason's story is the least remembered. Despite having wed Medea and fathering two boys, he courted the princess of Corinth as his bride. Understandably angered, Medea murdered the princess and her two sons. Jason was cursed for breaking his vows and died lonely and unhappy.

I'd say he got off easy.

Reunion

I was only seventeen when I gave my baby girl away to a loving family. My parents were by my side as my heart ached and I cried to sleep every night.

Happily married with two grown sons, my thoughts still frequented that sweet red-faced baby I left behind.

I felt my heart palpitate and my hands tremble, but my boys told me not to worry.

Molly had doubts but agreed to come.

The doorbell rings.

I straightened my clothes and took a deep breath.

On the other side of the door was my daughter waiting to meet her mother.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Career Day

“Good work today, Boys,” Bud Peptide said to his sons, Spud and Pud. “We finished plowing the back 40. You fellas deserve a reward.”

Bud pulled some bills from his wallet and handed them to Spud.

“Head into town and buy yourselves your first drink at the Short Twig Saloon.”

The brothers rode into town, burst through the saloon door and bellied up to the bar.

“Two beers,” Spud said to the bartender.

The bartender looked the boys over.

“Can’t you read?” he said, pointing to the sign on the door. “NO MINORS!”

“We’re not miners,” Pud said. “We’re farmers!”

From Guest Contributor Lee Hammerschmidt

Lee is a Visual Artist/Writer/Troubadour. He is the author of the short story collections, A Hole Of My Own, It’s Noir O’clock Somewhere, For Richer or Noirer, Flash Wounds, and Pulp Stains. Check out his hit parade on YouTube!

Live

The Fuhrer took everything. My husband, two sons, and our home that had been in the family for years. I’m all that’s left. The war is over, but who and what do I have to go back to. I lived through the filth and disease when everyone else was dying and there had been nothing I could do.

When the Americans arrived and liberated the camps, I fell to my knees and wept. I couldn’t believe it was over.

It’s tragic and my heart aches every-day, but I will continue to live, if not for myself then for my family.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Lisa has been writing since 2010 and has had many micro-flash fiction stories published. In 2018 her book, Shorts for the Short Story Enthusiasts, was published, and The Importance of Being Short in 2019. Her most recent book In A Flash, was published in the spring of 2022.

She currently resides on Long Island, New York with her husband Richard and dogs Lucy and Breanna.

I Overhear My Grandmother In A Dream

I knew about the tarpaper roof torn in the shape of the mountains she had just left, the shape of her youth spent in birthing a dozen children. I did not know she sang only to the sons, who arrived looking like wrinkled old men. When I asked her why she wouldn’t sing to her daughters, I already knew the answer: the girls would just leave her for strangers.

I saved my voice for prayer. The light flinched under the lie, but it was only my shadow. That light came from some distance, she said. You really shouldn’t impede it.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell

Cheryl is a classically trained pianist who writes by ear. Author of several collections of poetry, she has also written a series of novels called Bombay Trilogy; and been published in hundreds of literary journals and anthologies, including a Best of the Net. Look her up on Facebook.

The Hour Before Sunset

Dax Morgan policed the town of Ashland with a harsh tongue and pair of Colt revolvers. He tolerated no dissent, even from his own sons. The town tolerated him in return, as long as peace was maintained.

Gil Thompson hated the sheriff more than most. Dax’d been responsible for his ranch being seized by the government, using technicalities and subterfuge to cheat him of his birthright.

Each wanted the other dead. They finally faced off on a lonely dusty road in the hour before sunset.

As Gil rode away, a rivulet of blood soaked into the thirsty clay behind him.