Numerical Perplexity

The opened book lured him with its golden glow.

He imagined himself as a student in the day. Calculations done by mind or slide rules. No electronics to verify answers. Would he have had a good friend to ask for help? Were teachers stricter?

If it was a book of literature he would have fully appreciated it. But math? None of it made sense to him. The only value of the book, he determined, was its artistic calligraphy.

“Excuse me,” someone interjected. “Are you soon finishing your observation?”

He relaunched into the present, moving onwards to the museum’s next exhibit.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

The Sword

Steel prices being what they were, a single sword was worth the same as a medium-sized village. We're just talking the value of the land, buildings, and farm animals. The human lives weren't counted, since they mostly had a negative cost the way these things were reckoned.

Walter kept his sword hidden below his floor boards. It was a secret that had belonged to his family for generations. His ancestors were once counted among the nobility. Now there was just this sword. He could sell it and feed his children, but this would be frowned upon by his financial advisor.

On The Money Trail

Family members need help. I oblige. I’m their doer of tasks.

Why me? I’m between jobs, behind with payments and I haven’t shopped for new clothes in ages. I guess they trust me to deliver. I’m okay with that.

No time to linger. Housebound auntie wants her groceries.

As I hasten, sunshine glues sweaty polyester to my back. I spot sparkles on the sunlit lawn along my walkway.

Coins! Many coins, strewn in a line towards the space where a car had once parked.

I gather, add up their value, sigh.

Someone’s emptied change-purse or pocket. My bit of fortune. From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction regardless of the season or location she finds herself in.

The Coming Wipe Out

The coming wipe out of this reality? End of reality? June the Federal Government shuts down to cause more pain to the United States' people. July the wipe out of trillions of dollars of value as the electronic coin or Microsoft 2000060606 Cryptocurrency battery operated humans are turned on. Is it the end of humanity? Yes, I know humanity does not survive this aeron or era of mankind's sixth age. In yet? If I am real, I saw humanity's seventh age. Not so glorious, but the mirror image of this reality. Seriously? Read Wondering Mind through the Multiverse on Prose.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Gold

HISTORICAL FICTION SUBMISSION:

It was a scene out of a Joseph Heller novel. For three weeks, Nyhoff's platoon, at the behest of Colonel Walters, had driven them to take the god-damned hill. There was no apparent strategic value, and everyone assumed it was another cockamamie order from the generals. The generals rarely knew what they were doing.

But they eventually took the hill, and a lot of men died. Nyhoff wouldn't say they were good men, but they were men, and now they were dead. All because Colonel Walters had heard rumors of an abandoned cache of gold.

There was never any gold.

From Guest Contributor Gary Linehan

Quick Examples Of Homonyms

“To bare one’s soul is a difficult thing indeed,” Pappa said.

Baby Bear tried to balance on one leg and fell over.

“Not that type of sole, dear,” Mamma confided, helping her son to his feet.

“What sort of education is that school providing,” Poppa growled, we can barely bear the annual fees. They don’t mete out value for honey.”

“Only the bare essentials, dear,” Momma said, ladling porridge. “That principal, Goldilocks, operates under the principle that bears have no role in The Academie.”

“I must meet her.”

“Deer meat – where?” Baby Bear licked his lips.

Poppa rolled his eyes.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

Stars

I sold myself like some cheap thing you find on sale in a store or in the market. It wasn't until a year later I realized what I was made of: stars in our universe. I was one in a million of them. My mother wove my hair on a Sunday singing a song, then she told me, 'Ola, do you know what you are made of?' She smiled. 'Stars in our universe,' I said. I was broken, hurt, used, and thrown away, but I found my way back. I found my value, I found my peace, I found sanity.

From Guest Contributor Oghenemudia Emmanuel