The Other Side Of The Fence

Louis woke up to the sound of construction coming from outside the window. He groggily pulled the bedroom curtains back to find his neighbor erecting a wooden barrier on his side of the hedge lining their property.

After putting on a bathrobe and grabbing a cup of coffee, Louis worked up the courage to speak with Frank. They rarely communicated.

"It's an extra layer of protection."

"Protection from what?"

"From any and all dangers emerging from your side of the hedge. We don't take kindly to outsiders in these parts."

"Frank, we've lived next door to you for thirty years."

For the prompt Frontier

Frontier

The steep hills and rugged terrain bordered the frontier. Untamed wildlife lay ahead as I stepped into the wilderness on my hunt for food. I promised my wife we’d make a good home. It’s difficult at times, but we managed.

I heard an ominous sound nearby; crunching branches. I turned and pointed my rifle. Before me stood a grizzly bear at least ten feet tall. He growled and started toward me. I pulled the trigger and he fell into a heap. He let out his last breath and stilled.

He was protecting his home; I couldn’t fault him for that.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

For the prompt Frontier

Scarf

A silky white scarf sits on Kate’s hope chest, a gift from her mother resurfacing memories; the laughter of family and friends filling the room, the sound of voices singing happy birthday, and the gifts. The most precious, the scarf. It had been handed down by her grandmother to her mother and now Kate.

On her sick bed, Kate’s mother, with little strength, placed the scarf around her daughter’s neck and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. She wiped away a tear rolling down Kate’s cheek.

As Kate places the scarf around her neck, she feels her touch.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

War

I watched as my buddy exploded into fragments from a grenade. I saw the fear on his face knowing at that moment, he would die. It was chaotic and when I ran for cover, I thought he was behind me, but he stayed to help an injured soldier to safety. Now, both are gone.

I’m in the trench shaken, wishing I were anywhere else but here.

I heard the tanks roaring, and men yelled, guns ready in hand.

My ears rang; head pounded with all sound, until everything became muffled, and my right hand shook uncontrollably.

Then came the explosion.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Ascent

The door heaves open. Light floods me while darkness retreats inside me. The guards shove me outside my cell. On the stairs, my heart beats like a war drum. One step. Two. Many more. While my chains gently clink. At the summit, I look down and the people cheer. I see their mouths moving but I can’t hear a sound. All I hear is my panicked breath. As they take off my chains, the darkness escapes. I feel so light that I lose the ground under my feet. I smile, in the twenty-five meters that separate me from the abyss.

From Guest Contributor Davide Risso

Davide grew up in Italy, but his itchy feet led him to live in Ireland, Germany, the United States, and travel around the globe. Scientist by training, writer by passion, rock climber by vocation, his fiction has appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, RumbleFish Press, Literary Yard, and Cranked Anvil among others.

They're Cheap

After Victor finished laying into his subordinates, he always took a long sip from his diet coke. The sucking sound he made with the straw drove everyone crazy. He found great pleasure in their discomfort.

"Well? Do any of you jizzbags have any ideas how to turn around this colossus clusterfuck?"

"We could shave costs if we automated some of the more dangerous tasks. Insurance is up 13% over last year."

"We're insuring those motherfuckers? Get rid of that. It's cheaper to pay off families after an accident."

Victor used air quotes when he used the word accident. Everyone laughed.

Ice Pond

When I stepped outside onto the cold snow-covered sidewalk, I remembered my childhood in Maine.

“Hurry, Artie!” My sister, Clara, bellowed from across the ice pond.

My friend Eric couldn’t keep up, and I quickly sped past him, my hands raised in victory. Eric sighed and skated away, having had enough.

Clara clapped and then glided toward me. Suddenly there was a crackling sound and a scream. Clara fell through the ice, hands flailing, eyes fearful. I tried to get to her, but people pulled me back and said I’d fall too. Then there was silence.

I never skated again.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Dead Flowers

I was still in my twenties. A woman at the bar grabbed my arm and asked for my help. But I also would have rather done the tying than be the one tied up. Faraway in time, my doctor was phoning me with the results of the biopsy. I had what he called “an oddball cancer.” Of course, I did. What other kind would a poet have? The woman, her back now to me, was singing along with the jukebox about all the lonely people, a small, crumpled sound like foul dead flower water at the bottom of a vase.From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's newest poetry collection, Heart-Shaped Hole, is available from Laughing Ronin Press. He co-edits the online journal UnLost, dedicated to found poetry.

Hermitage

Harvest missed, starlings busy with unworked seed, overripe corn, a laugh with the scarecrow - leave toward evening. Leaves of fall turn red like the blood fingering across the green linoleum kitchen floor after the thud of the back of your head, split like a too-ripe pumpkin. A widower falls in the kitchen, no one hears it, did it make a sound? The trees in the yard mourn the wood you stacked anticipating winter, as it dries, rots, quietly decays. Equinoxes later it splinters, skips off across tan, fallow fields in a cold wind, wet with the rustle of black wings.

From Guest Contributor Craig Kirchner

Craig thinks of poetry as hobo art. He loves storytelling and the aesthetics of the paper and pen. He was nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize, and has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels. After a writing hiatus is being published and has work forthcoming in a dozen or so journals.

Repose

The warmth of the spring sun filled my body with repose. I laid back and looked up at the sky. The blueness bright and cheery awakened my eyes to ebullience.

I let the small rowboat drift on its own while the sound of ducks quacked and flapped their wings bathing in the lake. Nature was all around me. Birds chirped, on the shore frogs hopped, crabs crawled on the sand, and tree leaves quietly blew in the slight breeze.

I closed my eyes and soaked it all in, storing every sound and image in my mind.

Tomorrow, I start anew.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher