The Missed Date

I first saw you in the waiting room. I had an appointment with the oncologist. I was waiting. You waited too, month after month, for the trial results. You often came alone. You often sat alone in a corner, fiddling with the ring finger. The absence of a ring created a note of discord. It took me six months to gather courage to ask your name, your hobbies, your favourite colour, flower, song, season. For a date finally. You said yes. I wore blue and ordered one hundred and one tulips for the day. The day I attended your funeral.

From Guest Contributor Marzia Rahman

Marzia is a Bangladeshi fiction writer and translator. Her writings have appeared in several print and online journals. Her novella-in-flash If Dreams had wings and Houses were built on clouds was longlisted in the Bath Novella in Flash Award Competition in 2022. She is currently working on a novella.

Just A Dream

It was just a dream.

One night, years ago, I killed a man in a fit of rage. I immediately felt regret. What if I were caught?

Waking up was a relief.

The next night, I returned to face the aftermath of my nocturnal crime. I was arrested. I stood trial. I was sentenced to life in prison.

This was not over a single evening. It was an episodic nightmare that I returned to repeatedly. I forced myself to stay awake in order to avoid the inevitable but eventually the inevitable won out.

Was it real? It really didn't matter.

Why Do I Lose My Voice When I Have Something to Say?

Jo cleared her throat. She'd prepared for this moment from the instant an audience had been granted. This was a safe space to share her story, to give voice to all the degradation she'd suffered at his hands. She would finally see justice done.

Instead, when her time arrived and the judge called her to the stand, Jo found she was unable to speak. It was everything that she feared. Just like during the interrogation. At the inquest. During the trial. The truth was they'd arrived at this moment despite her many failures.

Maybe she didn't deserve justice after all.

I Cannot Agree

It's been a difficult trial.

The jury presents a guilty verdict.

I cannot agree with this jury. So, I tell them, “Members of the jury, in light of my 20 years of judicial experience, I find there is no evidence the defendant was near the crime scene, nor even knew the victim. Therefore, I declare the evidence insufficient to convict and hereby overturn the guilty verdict. Bailiff, release the prisoner.”

The courtroom is aghast.

I sit back down.

The judge says, “Well, Mr. Kaufman, now I'm sorry I asked if the defendant had anything to say. Bailiff, remove the prisoner.”

From Guest Contributor Kent V. Anderson

When Kent isn't writing stories, he is building robots.

The League Of Ruin

The test for entry into the League of Ruin is simple yet fearsome. Initiates are given two vials and asked to choose. One contains a power-granting elixir, the other a deadly poison. Anyone who wishes to join the league must overcome the test through a combination of bravery, deduction, and perception.

The truth, known only to the members of the League of Ruin, is there really is no choice. Each petitioner either has two vials of elixir or two of poison. The decision has already been made long before the actual trial, based upon the initiate's popularity, deviousness, and attractiveness.

Whispers

Caspar would hear the whispers as soon as he closed his eyes. At first they seemed related to his dreams, but gradually they became detached, having nothing to do with his REM cycles.

The whispers were not kind. They commanded him to murder his family. Caspar wanted to ignore them, but as their stridency increased, he eventually relented.

When the police found him covered in blood and surrounded by corpses, Caspar claimed that it was God who was whispering to him. The jury agreed, and he was eventually set free.

You see, God was whispering to the jurors as well.