Jog

I jog along the pathway with my Shih-Tzu Bentley, but the sunshine and heat cause me to stop and rest. Bently jumps on the bench panting. I pour water in the large plastic bowl I brought for him and drink the rest out of the bottle. I probably shouldn’t be jogging in this heat, but my compulsive tendencies tell me otherwise. After a ten-minute rest, I start again along the path.

Sweat drips down my forehead and the temperature feels intense. Suddenly, I get a shooting pain in the chest, and collapse to the ground, Bentley barking.

Everything goes black.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Fake Spring

You'd think it was a beautiful spring day. The sky was filled with puffy clouds. The temperature was unseasonably warm, perfect for short sleeves. The air had just a hint of pollen, so that anyone with allergies needed to worry. Colorful buds were starting to pop, and every creature, from squirrels to songbirds to rabbits, believed winter was no more.

I would have smiled if I could. Heavy storms were just over the horizon. Thunder, frosty winds, perhaps even a burst of snow.

George would need to hurry if we wanted to bury my corpse before the soil froze over.

The Ending?

At the beginning of my travels I lived in a reality where the US used Celsius. A temperature for a human was a 100 C. Body temperature was 97.8 C. How could that be? Blood flowed much much faster there. And reality spun up much faster too.

Meaning? Here they say 243 million years for an orbit of the Earth, while on a parallel Earth they said 1000 years. Begging the question how much faster is reality here? The big differences? Simple no known Black Holes? Yes. Abe Lincoln was a senator? Yes. Japan was off the coast of China.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Altered Realms Of Reality

The adventure of a quantum man. I used to be much larger. I used to live on Sagittarius. Doubt me? I doubt myself these days.

There on some parallel realm, the US used Celsius and to have a temperature meant you were 100 C. Makes me wonder if fat suits are just avatars from someplace else stuck in a heated environment. To live for years at 73 constant without snow. Now to have snow and live at 1 C. Makes me question my sanity these days. Do I remember correctly or am I just caught up in some grand adventure?

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Temperature Rising

Rudder lay on the trainer’s table writhing in agony. His throwing arm was swollen to bulbous proportions. A nasty, blistering rash spread from his wrist to his shoulder. His body convulsed with chills, a fever of 105°.

“Have you been self-treating again?” the team doctor asked.

“Just some analgesic balm. The big game’s on Sunday and my arm’s killing me. I need to be ready.”

“How much balm?”

“Four tubes.”

“What! The body can’t absorb that much!”

“Will I be okay by kickoff?”

“There’s no way you’re playing!” the doctor said. “You’ve got a severe case of Ben Gay Fever!”

From Guest Contributor Lee Hammerschmidt

Lee is a Visual Artist/Writer/Troubadour who lives in Oregon. He is the author of the short story collections, A Hole Of My Own and It’s Noir O’clock Somewhere. Check out his hit parade on YouTube!

River Of Memories

Fishel sent his wife and two boys away even though Adella insisted they stay until his fever broke. He wouldn’t hear of it. The “Wolves” could arrive at any moment, and he didn’t want to risk his family.

Fishel’s temperature raged, and he became delirious, his wife a constant vision. Too weak to travel, he went to bed, fell into a deep slumber, and dreamt of his family.

Stomping and yelling awakened him from his pleasant dream.

Four Nazi’s burst through the door, guns pointed at Fishel’s face.

“Get up Jew.”

He obeyed and left a river of memories behind.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Prey

The birds of appetite circled the spot below them on the desert floor. Inkblots against a sky cloudless and blue. They wheeled in decreasing concentric circles. Always, the spot the center of a bull’s-eye.

One bird landed feet from his target. Drawing nearer, he became agitated. There was nothing there. With a screech he took off in search of better prey.

Slowly, the spot resolved itself against the haze and became the figure of a man. He had stopped to rest after walking for hours. He stood now, indifferent to temperature and to thirst. Indifferent as well to his destination.

From Guest Contributor James C. Clar

Cemetery Sentiment

in this silent graveyard,no one mentioned death.the hair on my arms stood at attention,like soldiers in the cold war.temperature below freezing,any moisture turned into iceand fell onto his eyelashes.just before midnight,we grabbed a bouquet ofplasticyellowroses.he quivered from the cold,but his smile never faded.vows spilling from his lips,like a waterfall made of his soul.his nose was cold against mine,after the final words of our connection.pulling away he looked at me,a shimmer in his eyes,knowing,that forever,he will always be mine.

From Guest Contributor Neyalla Ryu