A Teddy-Bear Reunion

It’s been twenty -seven years since I’ve seen his face.

White and fluffy, hiding an adorable black button nose that invites a desperate need to boop.

Life descended into chaos not long after we met, and the spiral took decades to settle.

House to house, the bounce of instability, the gathering of no moss. None of them were home, just a place to be, until the next one.

But I’ve been here a while now. And can no longer ignore the roots that have sprouted. It's finally time to release my childhood friend from his black plastic prison.

We’re home.

From Guest Contributor Kamran Connelly

Kam’s Novelette DEATH BED INC is due for publication by Twisted Dreams Press. He has features in anthologies by Hollowpoint Press, Wolfsinger Publications RDG Books Press and UnpopularPublications. Is currently shopping around his debut novel, The Extinction Process. And his Vampire novella BLOOD BANK. Is published online at The Horror Tree, Trembling with Fear, Flash Phantoms, and WitCraft for his works of fiction. Has poetry featured in three anthologies, and a novella featured in the Paul Cave Prize for literature.

The Central Tower

“Sir, the enemy has broken through our outer defensive wall.”

“Damn, but at least we have an inner defensive wall, Ralph.”

It was a time of constant warfare between petty baronies. Among the pettiest of the barons was Baron Frank.

“Baron Frank, I didn't want to mention that the enemy broke through the inner wall also. I thought that would make you, well, more upset.”

“Upset, Ralph?… Of course, I'm upset. But at least we have this fortified central tower that's virtually impregnable. From here, I can command our troops in a devastating counter-attack.”

“Oh, about that word ‘impregnable’”...

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Butterfly

I staggered out of the time machine, wiping blood from my nose. Like Doctor had warned, radiation attacked my brain as time lapsed.

The man I hunted was under the tree. He’d dismantled humanity and our future.

He waved. His chubby cheeks reddened from the sun.

“Look,” he said. Resting on his small palm, a butterfly.

Wrong year. I didn’t expect to see a child.

He smiled innocently. “For you.”

Smiling back, I reached out.

He closed his fingers, and squeezed. A familiar smirk appeared. “Uh-oh.”

I reeled backwards.

No. I am not a monster. I am not a monster.

From Guest Contributor Umi Agawa

The Projects

Bailey and Lex were proud of the fact their neighborhood was in the projects They were pioneers, venturing into a dangerous frontier to make this part of the city livable again. Whenever they entertained houseguests--an infrequent occurrence since most of their friends were too scared to visit this part of town--they always mentioned the sacrifices they were making for the greater good.

Projects was a good name. Something like an experiment. Something only the bravest couples dared participate in.

Most of the time, Bailey and Lex endured their hardships stoically. But sometimes they missed having a Starbucks nearby.

For the prompt Frontier

Rock Star, Jr.

Dad’s a rock star. You know the type. Wild hair. Leather pants. Naked-lady tattoos. He’s never around for any father-and-son stuff, always away on some sold-out stadium tour.

For my 12th birthday, he gave me one of his old Gibsons. He didn’t have time to show me any chords, so I taught myself. I’ve been practicing every day.

He’s coming home after six months on the road, and I can’t wait for him to hear all the amazing riffs I’ve learned.

Because even if he doesn’t think a son deserves his attention, he’s got to appreciate a fellow musician, right?

From Guest Contributor Lori Cramer

A Dozen

Mort motioned to the waitress who took her time getting to the booth.

“Is this place okay?”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I just saw a fly.”

The waitress, with the name ‘Marge’ stenciled on her food-stained uniform, twisted her face.

“Are you sure?”

“I know a fly when I see one. And Claudette saw another one over there.”

Claudette nodded, pointing to the empty counter where a bulbous-headed insect stumbled erratically.

“Only two?”

“What’d you mean ‘only?’”

“Look, I get your point. A dozen or more flies aren't going to be wrong about a diner. But you saw only two in here…

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Back From The Correctional Facility

“I took the letters you sent, Ralph, and made them into a book.”

“A book? Or a manuscript, Claudette?”

After six months at the correctional facility, Ralph was finally home.

“Did you like them, Claudette?”

“I guess it's the thought that counts. I couldn't always get your spelling. Sometimes you were in a bad mood.”

“It was food…I kept writing for food.”

He was allowed only a pencil and paper.

“That's great, Claudette. You made a manuscript, and you were faithful to me the whole time.”

“Well, I wouldn't go that far.”

“You mean...You didn't make a manuscript?”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

For the prompt Manuscript and Letter

Graves

The buildings stood empty, monoliths etched by lichen and rust, each one a decaying monument to a forsaken past.

Dr. Niemann and his team surveyed the remains from the safety of their hazmat suits. Acquiring the grant money for their investigation of Old New York had taken more than a year. No one wanted to know what had happened. Perhaps out of fear it might happen again.

The surveyors delayed entering as long as possible. But the initial measurements and data tracking were complete and the time had come to learn why ten million people had all died at once.

Furry Friends

The park is filled with pets. It’s a hot summer day and I can feel the perspiration on my back. I come here every week to watch the dogs run and play, catching frisbees. It’s comical when one small dog grabs the frisbee and runs away under the tree when the owner is waiting.

You can see in the kids’ and parents’ faces, how their dogs make the family complete with their huge smiles, laughter and affection toward their hairy friends.

I didn’t realize the time. I must leave for an important appointment.

A new furry companion awaits my arrival.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Machine Music

"Why do I have to learn piano if in five years all music's going to be made by AI anyway?"

Gale generally enjoyed his life as a piano instructor, but his sessions with Kimberly were an exception. She was the kind of student who constantly wasted his time and purposefully avoided practice, so even her warm up scales grated on his nerves.

"AI doesn't know the first thing about writing actual music. It's just a bunch of sounds that vaguely resembles a real song. Art can't be created by a machine."

"But my biology teacher says humans are machines too."