Moody

The twilight sky blazed with attitude, warning everyone to speed indoors. The clouds hung ominously low on the horizon, pink, black, orange, and grey clashing together as darkness settled over the town. Rain, lightning, and even tornadoes were all possible tonight, like a sleep-deprived toddler on too much sugar.

Ben turned his collar up and sank his hands into his coat pockets, but otherwise meandered on, his attention entirely concentrated on the argument he was running away from. Rather than confront his wife with what he knew, or thought he knew anyway, he'd just keep walking towards the sun.

Teeth Of A Dragon

“Isn’t he great?” the mother asked amid clanging cymbals.

She looked down noticing that her toddler was no longer by her side.

The dragon who wiggled towards them, opening and closing its massive jaw, had danced its way into the crowd.

The mother searched frantically, calling out her son’s name. She passed grills barbecuing kebabs and performers playing folk music with pan flutes. In better times she enjoyed the ethnic celebration.

An intercom announcement prompted her to hurry to the admin office. Her child sat silently when she arrived.

“I got scared, Mommy. Did you see the dragon’s big teeth?”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Serious Preparations For Horizontal Descent

I said to the doctor, “I’m dying.” He said, “How’s that my fault?” I had been shedding parts for at least a week. The doctor said it was my body attacking itself. “It’ll scald you,” he said in the same confidential manner, “peel the skin and muscle right off your bones.” The exam room then filled with people I didn’t know, one a crying toddler, her face all red and sweaty and scrunched up. Apparently, serious preparations for horizontal descent were underway. There was nothing else I could think of that would explain why this murdering old world trembled so.From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of THE DEATH ROW SHUFFLE, a poetry collection forthcoming from Finishing Line Press.

The Cellar

Oksana pounded the door of Zoya's wooden house. She screamed.

"Zoya, the Red Army has surrounded the village. Hide, Zoya!"

Zoya, holding her toddler Ekaterina in her arms, opened the door.

"Oh, God, help us. Oksana, where's Father Nikolai?"

"They've started a fire in the church! Hide, Zoya."

"God have mercy. Run Oksana. We'll hide in the cellar." Zoya pressed her daughter tightly to her breast. She ran to the cellar.

Zoya embraced her daughter. She heard a crashing sound. When she realized the smoke was coming from above, she said, "I love you Ekaterina. We'll be together in Heaven."

From Guest Contributor Deborah Shrimplin

In The Spirit Of Amusement

Amusement Park. Strange name. Bet there are more unamused adults than young children. Heard Uncle Max scream. Saw him vomit on the Ferris Wheel, again. After he said he couldn’t stomach it. Cousins bashed themselves manoeuvring bumper cars. Their dads were not amused. Neither was the ride operator. Too much cotton candy caused my sweet tooth to sour at the dentist’s. We tried the Swing Carousel. I sat with Dad. The swing in front of us was empty. Would’ve been filled if the father of a toddler didn’t have a tantrum. They relocated at the merry-go-round. I preferred the Pendulum.From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband and stuffed animals and many friends.

My Armor

He was my life, my armor, my smile, my savior, my everything. Lost him! I Will never see him again. I'm sad, grief stricken, but not devastated. I did my best, was there for him with everything required to always keep him going. I did love him more than anybody else and we shared the same feeling. He loved me more than anybody else. His kisses I miss. I don't cry but long for him secretly. All day I laugh, I'm merry with my toddler. The moment I close my eyes he's there waiting for me.

I sleep more now...

From Guest Contributor Manmeet S Chadha

Hell Is Paved In Pink Flamingos

He struggled—obsessed was the right word really—with finding just the right word to describe his surroundings. The decor might have been chosen by a meth-addicted toddler who also happened to be a fan of early 80's Madonna. The word kitsch came to mind, but while the neon atmosphere did have a tacky garishness one would associate with lava lamps or chia pets, there was also an aggressiveness to the design that implied a malevolence to the circumstances. He wasn't here by accident and whoever brought him here wanted him to suffer. The pink flamingos were proof of that.

The Babysitting Job

Lisa had been babysitting for almost two years, ever since she was 14. Never in her long career had she seen anything so disgusting as this.

Little kids will puke and poop and spit and generally make a mess of everything they touch. Lisa was used to all these awful behaviors. She was a pro.

But she'd never seen a baby molt before, yet that was exactly what this toddler was doing. Shedding its skin and revealing a hard layer of scales underneath. Lisa shrieked and jumped on top of the coffee table.

Perhaps the Iguana family wasn't hispanic after all.