Superman

Superman used to be the savior of the modern world. Natural disasters and global calamities quickly resolved thanks to his timely interventions. No feat seemed impossible to the Man of Steel.

That was before. Now, whether the state of the world just seemed worse by comparison, or the long peace meant that we were not ready to look after ourselves again after relying on the Kryptonian's good graces, who can say? All that's certain is tragedy is never far away and there's no one here to save us.

Not since Superman got a dog. Let humanity take care of itself.

Shadows Of The Forgotten Timepiece

He never uttered the word curse, but Dante had no doubt his life was marked for tragedy.

From his car accident at 16, to the string of outlandish catastrophes that followed him like ducklings throughout adulthood, including bouts of homelessness, addiction, and illness, both mental and physical in nature, Dante never caught a break, until finally he simply gave up all together.

Most of those who knew poor Dante blamed his lack of willpower. But they might have thought differently had they realized every misfortune occurred at exactly 3:13 PM. The same time he'd broken his grandfather's lucky watch.

Legacy

Every moment, Tom aspires to be like the stars in the sky, shining and bright. But laziness strikes over and it’s always a procrastination. But there are life changing moments, aren't there?

Tom’s life changed when Ann, a poet, entered his life. Their friendship made Tom reach heights--he became a novel writer cum dancer. Years went by with huge success until the tragedy hit their lives.

Tom passed away. Today Ann runs a cancer treatment hospital in his name. She started writing poetry, especially about diseases. Ann helped Tom, so now wasn’t it Tom’s turn to help Ann from above?

From Guest Contributor Jesna Maria Jose

The Birth Of Tragedy

I was nervous about interviewing for the job, but my confidence rose as soon as I walked into the anteroom. My only competition seemed to be ignoramuses with a fixed repertoire of inanities and washed-up ballplayers in the habit of spitting. Forty minutes later, my name was called. “I’ll lick stamps,” I told the gargoyle from HR. “I’ll lick whatever you want.” He looked at my wrinkled boots and patched coat and just shook his big ugly head. Some may be born with a tragic sense of life. Others are like me and acquire it by dint of long effort.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's most recent poetry collection is Gunmetal Sky, available from Thirty West Publishing.

Regrets

I write my own praises, dictating stories to muckrakers. Advisors insist on it.

I ran for office to serve. Tragedy. Much is given, much is expected.

I spout platitudes with such grace, it scares me.

Advisors expect me to conduct myself with grace. Don’t show feelings.

Constituents expect a shining prince, savior of liberalism.

I drink copiously, the moon as my witness. I can’t contain the weight of demands, desires.

I wake up on stairwells and in closets, hangovers uniquely my own machination.

I feel failure pirouetting, a taunting ballerina. She’s right to taunt.

But I’m not allowed to regret.

From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri.

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. He is the recipient of two Honorable Mentions from Glimmer Train. His story, "Strangers," was nominated for The Best Small Fictions. Mir-Yashar's work is forthcoming or has been published in journals such as (mac)ro (mic), Runcible Spoon, JAB Fiction and Poetry, Unstamatic, and Ariel Chart.

Innocence Lost

Robyn watched the memorial for an hour before shutting the television. The numerous innocent casualties grieved her. Eighteen-years-later and September 11th, 2001 remained visible. The screams and falling debris echoed, and the blackened sky that had been full of abundant sunshine before the tragedy, frightened her.

She took a deep breath and poured herself a steaming cup of herbal tea. The warmth soothed her stomach.

Robyn had left her 911 operator job that very evening. The towers collapsing had brought her over the edge and the voices of people pleading for help still haunted her.

Tears formed and tea spilled.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Never Forgotten

The eerie sound of rumbling and cries coming from the street as the day turns clouded with dust and debris.

Sirens blaring, chaos ensuing. A day of sadness and a city coming together in the face of tragedy.

The memory of falling angels and blackness in lower Manhattan as firefighters run to help the innocent.

Seventeen years later, the depth of emotion still consumes our souls.

Names read every year on the day, by a weeping family member.

Sleepless nights and sorrow for family still waiting to hear if their loved one’s remains are found, never forgetting September 11th, 2001.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Star Wars Fan

I bought my movie ticket a week ago, to see Rogue One. Now the day of, a heavy rain storm caused flooding and traffic. I had to make it there. I sat in the car stuck behind honking car horns thinking of last year’s Star Wars film and Princess Leia’s recent death. A tragedy. Okay, the traffic started moving. I had fifteen minutes to get there, park, and buy popcorn.

The parking lot was unusually empty. I found a spot close to the theater. After I ran through puddles, the sign on the door read closed due to inclement weather.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher