First Thanksgiving

The turkey is in the oven, and I breathe in the flavor. The table is set, and the apple pie is cooling on the counter; the sweet smell makes me want to eat a piece before the family arrives.

This is the first Thanksgiving I’ve hosted since Brad’s passing, and this had been his favorite holiday. He’d always sneak a taste of the raisin stuffing I’d make special for him before anyone would arrive.

I’m sitting with my feet up sipping white wine, savoring the flavor when the doorbell rings.

I take a deep breath and head to the door.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Jimmy James

My grandmother was a great lover of music, though her taste had calcified in the mid-sixties. She liked the early Beatles. She liked James Brown. She liked Little Stevie Wonder. But her favorite band was the Vagabonds.

According to family legend, which she was happy to share over jam and croissants, she met Jimmy James when she was seventeen and worked at the department store as a sewing assistant. She helped the tailor fit the suits for the customers. She always smiled when she said Jimmy James was a good tipper.

I wondered if she meant that as a euphemism.

Home

The muffled voices from outside the closed door play behind every memory. The echoes of arguments filled my ears each night as I fell asleep. The stinging sliding down my face and the taste of salt along my lips fills me with comfort. My frowning face in the bathroom mirror, as I rinse the dried tears from my cheeks, is a clear picture of me. Home is a safe place. I feel safe behind those doors. I feel safe tucked in my bed. I feel safe as I cry myself to sleep. Home is the familiar noise of troubled souls.

From Guest Contributor Selah Mantravadi

Christmas

Ten-year-old Richie helped his mom decorate the Christmas tree with colorful red, green, and blue lights, and an array of ornaments. When he lit the tree, everything in the room illuminated.

His mom sank into the couch. “Maybe this year Christmas won’t be so lonely.”

Richie sulked, grabbed a chocolate chip cookie from the tray and nibbled on it to savor the taste, when the bell rang, and he ran to answer it.

His eyes widened when he saw who stood in front of him. His dad in his navy uniform.

The war had ended, and Christmas was whole again.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Justice Delivered

It left a strange taste in her mouth, just as Robert said her first would. But it was successful and could launch her career. A perfect heart shot at 300 yards. There are those that will want to know who made the shot. She left traceable evidence of her sniper nest, so the exact shot distance would be known.

Maybe it should have bothered her, but it didn’t. What’s one less human trafficker in the world? She’d happily trade his life for one less girl trafficked. At least one mother got the justice she wanted and will sleep well tonight.

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.

Greek Yogurt

Have you ever tasted Greek yogurt?

The consistency is so thick, and the taste is so bland.

It comes in 2% reduced fat, 1% reduced fat, and fat-free.

Add to it your favorite fruit or other sweet toppings, you’ll be surprised how delicious it will be.

Strawberries, blueberries, bananas, oranges, or even dark chocolate chips.

Finish it off with granola to give it some crunch and some honey to give it some sweetness.

Yum, delicious.

Greek yogurt is that simple yogurt that tastes bland until you add delicious toppings to it.

Give Greek yogurt a try; you might like it.From Guest Contributor Hope Scippio

Hope is a published author, as well as a student of journalism, graphic design, and broadcasting at Pikes Peak State College.

Camaraderie

Quibble believes the Paterson boy is getting a little close to his daughter. He has seen how tethered they sit when allowed to linger together on the porch. Three school dances in a row they have been each other’s primary partner. Quibble’s wife has taken to complimenting for no reason, with fanfare, the boy’s taste in clothing. The conspiracy grows. Quibble is sure, if he had a mind to intercede, he could find the couple parked in the graveyard, innocently – so far – bobbing for lumber. He likes the boy well enough. He has to find a way to warn him.

From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner

No Soliciting

Good evening, miss, you’re looking lovely tonight. Miss? Do wait up. I meant no offense! Now I just wanted to bid you a good night but – swat! Hey now, there is no reason to strike with such malice, now is there? I don’t mean to drool, but your skin tonight is so pale, so smooth, so inviting... I’m just the slightest bit peckish. You wouldn't mind if I had a taste? A sip? Pints and pints you have, an abundance. Surely you wouldn’t mind if I took your hand in mine, and gave it a pinch of a kiss – smack!

From Guest Contributor Skyler Bath

October Blues

The stickiness of the summer air had finally disappeared, leaving behind a brisk chill in its wake. Bronze leaves danced in the wind after departing from their trees, reviving nostalgia that remained hidden deep within your bones. The same way you felt it deep inside your bones when he kissed you that Fall years agoーcupping your face with his warm hands while leaving the sweet taste of honey and cinnamon behind. Shuddering, whether from the bitter wind or suppressed memories of times that no longer existed, you crunch the leaves beneath your heavy boots harderーand you keep on walking.

From Guest Contributor Kelsey Swancott

Kelsey is a graduate of St. John Fisher College, majoring in English, with a concentration in writing while also being an editor in the campus literary magazine Angles.She is furthering her education by attending SUNY Brockport for her master’s in English, specializing in creative writing. Following graduation, she is interested in working in the editing and publishing field.

Confined By The Sea

NATURE SUBMISSION:

I watched as the minute breaking waves climbed the gentle slope of the beach, trying to get as far as possible. As the surf receded, complicated patterns formed in the tawny sand. The pendular movement repeated itself, together with the characteristic sound of the advancing and retreating water. But the smell of the shore at low tide, the taste of the salty spray, the feel of the breeze and the warmth of the early sun were missing. I tossed my mobile phone away and sighed - no video will ever replace the soothing experience of a simple walk by the sea.

From Guest Contributor Miguel Prazeres