Final Instructions

The fight between Lefty Louie and Bonecrusher Rocco was only minutes away. Bonecrusher was an awesome specimen – a huge head, bull neck, and massive chest and biceps.

In Louie's corner, Al, his manager, had a few last words.

“The referee’s going to give you both instructions in the middle of the ring.”

Why a square surface was called a ring Louie didn't understand.

“He's going to tell you to go to a neutral corner when someone's down. Break when he tells you to. Then he'll say let the better man win.”

“What?”

“I know, Louie. Just forget that last part.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Executive Execution

He said he was blown over, that the breeze from the kitchen door had left him defenseless. But our Lord sees only in black and white. The laws are clear: no dust bunny shall enter another bunny’s land--no exceptions. A silent crowd awaits as the trespasser is dragged into the dimly lit square: thrashing, kicking, pleading. It is pointless. Laws are laws, we must simply obey. He is tied to the base of a pink cocktail umbrella. We all turn our heads to our Lord expectantly. He gives a simple nod. The match is struck and the pyre lit.

From Guest Contributor Skyler Bath

Teed Off

When Matt Dobson teed off for the tenth hole, he drilled Brian Witherspoon, who weighs about 350, as he bent over to pick up what he thought was a quarter but turned out to be a gum wrapper.

“Well damn,” Brian yelled, “Dobson’s ball hit me square in the ass!”

Everyone got real quiet and we thought a situation might develop, but Lawson jumped off the bench and yelled, “Oh come on, he missed your asshole by five inches.”

Then everyone started laughing and so Brian walked over and shook Dobson’s hand and we all got on with our game.

From Guest Contributor Andrew Miller

Andrew retired from a career that included university teaching and research. Now he has time to pursue his long-held interest in creative writing. Check out some of his publications at: http://www.andrewcmiller.com/

The Priest

It looked like the kid in the black hoodie had a gun in his hand. And, we all knew that the officer, who was coming around the corner, couldn’t see him.

The priest raised the Glock and fired, hit the kid square in the chest, knocked him flat.

The guy in charge whistled. “Why’d you shoot?”

“Thought he had a gun.”

He reran the video. “It’s an axe—he’s splitting wood.”

Everyone could tell the priest felt foolish. No matter. We got on the bus and rode to the shooting range. We wanted to see them shoot the 50-caliber rifle.

From Guest Contributor Andrew Miller

Andrew retired from a career that included university teaching and research. Now he has time to pursue his long-held interest in creative writing. Check out some of his publications at: http://www.andrewcmiller.com/

Our Understanding

Will you wait for me? I was distracted in the company of voices. Remembered you when I realized the time.

I race, feet positioning haphazardly over cobblestone. Last narrow lane weaves through a city's historic gate, connects me to the main square where I met you yesterday. Where pigeons scrambled for tossed seeds. Tourists watched.

I see you in the same location with the sun setting behind you. Your body pivots, face gestures into countless expressions. Your hands deliver a new story, in silence.

When you see me, your eyes smile. For you know I understand your art of pantomime.From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her fiction and poetry have recently been published online and in journals at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, A Story in 100 Words, 101 Words, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, and espresso stories. Her nonfiction has appeared in flash fiction chronicles and in Wild Lands Advocate. Krystyna resides in Alberta, Canada.