Above Average Wear And Tear

Pete grabbed his lucky t-shirt from the back of the closet and threw it on.

"I'm ready."

"You are not wearing that."

"What? It's a classic."

"It's barely holding itself together. It must be 20 years old."

Pete was proud of his vintage Pearl Jam concert tee. Sure it may have seen better days, but the real ones would know. "25 actually. I got it when they played Bridge School in '99."

"You promised me you'd dress up tonight." Rebecca sighed, realizing it was a lost cause.

"Why are guys always more attached to their old clothes than their wives?"

Not One Of Us

They watched Mark with great interest. Everything about him screamed that he was different, from the way he was dressed (tattered blue jeans and a Winter is Coming t-shirt) to the way he shunned their company.

As he walked briskly past, heads turned seemingly as one. Before long, Mark had a large retinue, each individual dressed in a dark blue suit, following after him. He hurried on without directly acknowledging their attention.

"He's not one of us."

Mark stopped. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

"We just want what's best for you, Mark. Join us and never be alone again."

T-Shirt Sun Tan

"Look at your farmer's tan."

"We don't call it that anymore."

"What? Why not?"

"It's derogatory to farmers."

"How is it derogatory?"

"It's mocking them for having to work in the sun all day."

"They do work in the sun all day. Are you saying that just because they work in the sun it's somehow undignified? That earning an honest living outdoors is not as worthy as sitting in an office?"

"You're the one laughing at me."

"I'm laughing at you because you look stupid, not because I have anything against farmers. Someone's a conceited asshole and it's not me."

Sunday Morning

He remembers hating the formal dress of Sunday morning. Khakis and a button-down shirt felt so constrictive, especially compared to his Saturday uniform: shorts and a t-shirt. Even worse, no one ever gave him a satisfactory answer as to why they must dress so formally, when the Bible made very clear that God actually prefers the poor and the ragged over the richly attired.

It's strange to miss something you don't believe in, but there was a comfort in not having to make a decision.

Now every Sunday morning he spends much longer than he should selecting what to wear.

The Book

I’m already sitting in the grass, cross-legged, when you meet me after class. “I’m sorry,” I say as you sit. “I forgot your book.”

“Bring it Thursday.” You smile. “We’re almost done. I can’t wait.”

The rest of campus trudges past. I’ve had your favorite book for months—and I’m not forgetting it so much as I’m scared to give up this piece of you, the only one I have. “Won’t you miss this, once we’re done?” I ask. “It’s our last finals week.”

“Maybe someday,” you say, and look away.

In the evening sun your white t-shirt turns golden.

From Guest Contributor Natalie Schriefer

Natalie received her MFA from Southern Connecticut State University. She works as a freelance writer and editor. Home base: www.natalieschriefer.com

A Picture Of Him

The rain came in through the window, but she didn’t move to close it. Her eyes were fixated on the picture of her late husband.

His toothy grin, unkempt hair, and the obnoxious Rolling Stones t-shirt brought a smile to her face. She had forgotten how goofy he could be when taking a photo. He had the complete inability to be serious when a camera was pointed at him. The various ridiculous poses and his exaggerated grins came to mind and made her chuckle to herself.

She gently traced his face with her fingertip as tears glided down her cheeks.

From Guest Contributor Zane Castillo

The Sickness

The sickness, that’s all we told Billy.

He couldn’t believe that Grampy fit into such a little container and we couldn’t convince him Grampy wasn’t coming home.

“But Grampy lives at home. Where will he live?”

The two were inseparable from Billy’s birth. Half-day Kindergarten was traumatic. Grampy paced all morning waiting for Billy to get home.

Once we gave Grampy a T-shirt emblazoned “Grampy: the myth, the legend, the man.” He wore nothing else unless it was pried off him to wash. He looked so peaceful in the casket wearing that T-shirt, we cremated him in it. Damn coronavirus.

From Guest Contributor NT Franklin

NT Franklin has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, CafeLit, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, among others.

Homage To Discworld King

The tall caped figure dismounted the midnight horse and negotiated cracked paving to knock on nondescript door.

Bright dancing eyes and grey beard yanked it open. “Well?”

Taken aback, Death cleared his throat. “HELLO.”

“Bugger ‘HELLO’, what kept you?”

“UM!”

Author pushed past the cowled figure.

“ER… DON’T YOU WANT TO DRESS?” Death waved a skeletal digit at the grimy T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops.

Author pointed his beard aggressively. “That would be rather pointless now, wouldn’t it?”

Death sighed and followed the little man to the waiting steed. He was sure he’d forgotten something.

“OH YES.”

He raised the scythe.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid