The Shove Seen Round The World

My family sings and we eat ice cream cake, the crunchy bits dancing across my tongue. We shovel sugary forkfuls into our mouths, laughing and sharing kindred stories. We are warm. We are comfortable. We are sheltered.

I am enveloped in birthday cheer the exact moment when parts of our beloved country erupt in chaos.

Whistles for justice pierce the air before biting clouds of pepper spray surround the faces of protestors fighting for their neighbors. There is a shove, and all the world sees a cell phone raised in a clenched fist; a lifeless body sprawled in the street.

From Guest Contributor Brigitta Scheib

Affair

I parked across the street and put the car in park. I had the radio low and gulped a beer, hoping a cop wouldn’t catch me in the act. Fortunately, no cars were in sight.

Deep down I knew something was amiss, so when I found the texts on her phone, I wasn’t surprised. But my best buddy, that’s unforgivable on both sides.

Her car just pulled in. When she reached the porch, he came outside and smiled. They embraced, lips locked together, hands in each other’s hair, before shutting the door.

I knew then what I had to do.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

A Brief Interaction

An old woman and a boy. Both walking on opposite sides of the same busy street; her with a bag full of groceries. She enters a crosswalk, stumbles over a crack, falls, her groceries scattering. The boy gasps watching vehicles swerve around her, none stopping. He scurries between them to her side, helps her to her feet, collects her groceries back into her bag, leads her carefully across to the sidewalk on the other side. Their eyes meet and hold. The old woman pats her heaving chest and points to him. The boy smiles, nods, then continues on his way.

From Guest Contributor William Cass

William has had over 395 short stories accepted for publication in a variety of literary magazines and anthologies such as december, Briar Cliff Review, and Zone 3. Winner of writing contests at Terrain.org and The Examined Life Journal, he's also been nominated once for Best of the Net, twice for Best Small Fictions, and six times for the Pushcart Prize. His three short story collections have all been published by Wising Up Press.

Muted

Late one night in a foreign town, I walked past two men just inside a dark alley. The larger one had the other pushed up against a wall with a knife under his chin. The smaller man looked at me with pleading, terror-filled eyes. When the larger man jerked to follow his gaze, I hurried beyond them up the street. No one else was around to turn to for help. I had no cell phone and no idea where the nearest police station was. So I just continued on my way, hands trembling, head down: voiceless, derelict, abandoning all rectitude.

From Guest Contributor William Cass

Heroes

The fire blew the windows into the street, and pedestrians ran from the area. I entered the house with my fellow firefighters, and the intense heat hit me like a weight. In the distance I could hear someone yelling for help.

“You check downstairs, I’m going upstairs, I hear someone.”

I followed the screams to the bedroom and kicked the door in. Smoke filled the room, but I could see the woman struggling for air. I lifted the tiny woman and took her down the stairs outside to the waiting EMTs.

I went back inside, and we extinguished the fire.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Revenge

When I think of the nights we spent together snuggling and planning the future, it makes my stomach ache. How could he have an affair with my sister who I adored. I remember when I walked into the bedroom, Sarah screeched, and Jeff’s mouth dropped. I nearly trampled his cat Muffin fleeing the room. I could hear their footsteps following me down the stairs and calling my name, but I rushed out the door and into my car peeling down the street. I blasted the radio to distract the images of their naked bodies entwined.

Now, I plot my revenge.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

When One’s Owners Don’t Get It

Hank, a large German Shepherd, wouldn’t hurt a fly; his owners knew he was a good dog, so they let him roam their street with a leash on, but nobody holding it.

However, Hank learned that many viewed with suspicion the apparent lack of human-affiliation that his unmanned leash seemed to signify.

Small children would take one look at him and turn to quivering jelly. Dogs on human-attended leashes preemptively barked so much, their owners had to reroute their walks.

Hank finally learned to bring the loose end of his leash to his owners whenever he wanted to walk around.From Guest Contributor Susmita Ramani

Susmita’s work has appeared in over thirty different publications, including 100 Words, and she has a novella coming out in 2026. She lives in the Bay Area with her husband, two teenage daughters, and a dozen pets. See her WordPress for fiction and Instagram for poetry.

Wanderlust

The pulse of the city is becoming my own. I woke up with a thrumming headache this morning. The night and the dawn are a patchwork in my aching head. When I walk down the street, steam ripples off the pavement, as intangible as my disintegrating memories. How is my stranger? I wonder. The one from last night’s club. Gone now. He’s returned back to his own life after our brief collision: my drunken frame hung off his neck. His glassy brown gaze still holds me. Power lines cross my heart. My eyes swim in the summer sweat and rain.

From Guest Contributor Siri Harrison

School Day

First day at my new school. I wonder what the other kids will be like. I miss all of my friends from my old school; I hope I’ll find new friends here. My older sister Alice has it worse than me. She lost her steady boyfriend when we moved. Those guys down by the street might be interested in Alice; she was popular back at Edgeworth High. They look like they are the right age for her. Oh-oh, I’m going to be late if I don’t snap out of it and get going. School is a couple of miles away.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Resistance

The Nazis arrived in Poland stomping down the street showing their authority. My mother was in the kitchen cooking dinner, the smell of vegetables wafting in the air, and my father had the radio on listening to the broadcast of the invasion. I sat next to him and stared out the window. For no apparent reason, one of the soldiers kicked a man that stood on the sidewalk with I’m assuming his young daughter. The girl screamed when the man collapsed in a heap. Was this the world now? No one was safe.

The next day I joined the resistance.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher