Surprise Party

When I entered the restaurant with Kate, I scanned the room as everyone yelled surprise. I was stunned and stood motionless. Family and friends gathered around waiting to hug the fifty-year-old birthday boy. Balloons of different colors filled the room and small beer bottle opener party favors laid perfectly next to each place setting.

“So, honey, were you surprised?”

“Yes, and then some,” I kissed her softly on the lips.

Everyone yelled speech, speech, so I raised my glass. Before I could get any words out, I thought of how I would tell my wife I just lost my job.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Demonstration

I’m going to eliminate demonstration presentations from my Speech course. I was erasing the board after class tonight when a student approached me, asked if I’d approve a ritual for the assignment. “I’ll need to make an altar, bring a knife.”

I turned to face her, “Sorry… no, Moira, that’s not okay.”

She narrowed her eyes, whispered words I barely caught, “within wood…split a stone…find me there.”

I smiled weakly, “Was that a spell?”

She stormed out. I gathered my books and bag and walked quickly to the car. Under my blouse, my jasper cross tingled warm against my skin.

From Guest Contributor Yvonne Morris

Yvonne is the author of Mother was a Sweater Girl (The Heartland Review Press). Her most recent work has appeared in the Santa Clara Review, The Write Launch, and Friday Flash Fiction.

Her Little Plum

The plum blossoms dance in the spring breeze like pink snowflakes across the yard.

A boy again, mother lifts me into the limbs to pick ripened fruit. “Be careful, my precious squirrel.”

“Ready, dear?” my wife asks.

“Yes,” my voice chafes. I inspect my dark suit, adjusting my tie in the window’s reflection. Wipe my face and rub wet fingers together.

“Your speech is in my purse.”

Words. An inadequate parting gift.

My mouth waters as mother sets down a steaming plum pie.

After her funeral, floodlights illuminate wreckage of the fallen tree. A brittle heart splinters. Sobs erupt anew.

From Guest Contributor Eric Schweitz

Famous Last Words

Stanley Ash paused at the doorway. As with everything, he wanted his departure to be appropriately dramatic.

"This may be the last time you ever hear from Stanley Ash"

The applause was polite. Stanley Ash knew instinctively he had underwhelmed.

He ignored the sycophantic drooling of his assistants. He rejected the escort back to his penthouse. He refused to utter a single word to anyone, and with a wave of his hand, emptied the room. He was silently composing his next speech, determined to win their hearts, not just their obedience.

Ironically, no one saw Stanley Ash alive ever again.