Titus

The emperor gave Titus the signal and he plunged his sword into the gladiator. Blood gushed from his neck, and he took his last gasp. The crowd chanted and Titus waved his arms in victory.

Titus’ master approached. “Well done, Titus. There hasn’t been a gladiator to match you, and I hope it stays that way.”

The ground began to rumble. The emperor’s statue fell in a heap, and people began tumbling to their deaths.

Someone in the crowd yelled. “Look at the mountain. It’s on fire!”

Mount Vesuvius spewed fire and rained pumice.

Titus would not fight another day.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Consequence Of Failure

Dale stares at the target. Everything is riding on him. The difference between victory and defeat. The difference between eternal glory and a lifetime of infamy.

Dale takes a deep breath and bounces the ball three times. He focuses his mind on this simple act he's done a million times. He refuses to look at his teammates, or listen to the fans nervously watching from the stands.

If he misses, his family will receive death threats. He'll be retired in shame.

Dale releases the ball. He doesn't need to watch to know it's clanked off the front of the rim.

Ice Pond

When I stepped outside onto the cold snow-covered sidewalk, I remembered my childhood in Maine.

“Hurry, Artie!” My sister, Clara, bellowed from across the ice pond.

My friend Eric couldn’t keep up, and I quickly sped past him, my hands raised in victory. Eric sighed and skated away, having had enough.

Clara clapped and then glided toward me. Suddenly there was a crackling sound and a scream. Clara fell through the ice, hands flailing, eyes fearful. I tried to get to her, but people pulled me back and said I’d fall too. Then there was silence.

I never skated again.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Victory

The air is ominous, and lightning brightens the sky. I hold onto the mountain with both hands. I’m an avid climber, but the weather forecast is wrong. The sky is not abundant sunshine.

With each step I take, I use all my energy to endure and sustain my worries. All I need to do is take a deep breath.

The rain is heavy, and I feel the weight of it baring down. Just a few more steps. I can do this.

I reach the peak and use all my strength to pull myself up.

I wave my hands in victory.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Victory

The force of the sword against my shield knocked me to the ground. As the sword came toward me, I turned and pushed myself up. I could barely see through my protective head shield and the sweat dripped down my face. The man, large and fierce, came at me again, and the clanking of our swords filled the arena.

One of us would die, slaves no one cared about.

In one last attempt, I lunged, stuck my sword into his side and twisted. He moaned, collapsing to the ground face down. The crowd cheered.

I raised my hands in victory.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Doomed To Repeat

Alexander’s Eastern campaign had gone well until now. But Bactria was different. He sat astride his beloved horse and studied the valley below. These lands were ruled by tribes and the fighters were unpredictable, as was the weather. Would he be able to rule this land once he had subdued it?

General Gromov looked back across the Afghanistan border and sighed. The last of his Russian troops were safely out. Nine years and thousands of Soviet deaths later, there was no victory.

American General Miller looked down from his Blackhawk and mused: what was that saying about history repeating itself?

From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius

The Universe's Greatest Hero

As the handsome Captain Cahill hurtles through the cosmos at 186,000 miles per second, his mind wanders back to his finest victory. At the Battle of Vynsenulon VI, when he lured the Gigarachnids into a narrow crevasse and lit the charges above them, burying their army under five tons of granite. His actions that day earned him three medals, one for heroism, one for bravery, and one for valor. Captain Ronald Cahill, the universe's greatest hero.

“I’m leaving you, Ronny.” He barely hears from virtual reality, “Call me if you ever grow the fuck up!” His wife slams the door.

From Guest Contributor Rob Howard

Burning Uncertainty

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

My elder sister Tanya and I burn portraits of Nicholas, watching his solemn eyes melting. Melting, melting. Flames envelop his beard, rising into the night sky.

“To the Revolution,” she proclaims. “We’ll be happy again.”

“To happiness,” I proclaim. I hug Tanya. She smells of sweat and oil and victory.

I wonder what will come next. We’ve lost homes and positions, slaved in Siberia. She was a teacher and I, a writer. Those positions are in the past, though.

Will we be of use? Or will the Revolution brand us too bourgeois?

I wish the picture wouldn’t burn so fast.From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, 50 Word Stories, (mac)ro (mic), and Ariel Chart.

MOOOFASA!!!

We march the bodies of our fallen before us

Their pyres lead us away from the dawn

Our ragged retreat despoils the marshes

As we carry our losses downwards and on

The clever commanders of our teaching have failed us

Now they walk with the infantry, humbled and gray

And all that we’ve learned from their studies in failure

Is the different formations for losing the day

But though our shields are just brittle paper

And though our strength is just desperate fear

And though we’ve been judged and come up wanting

Yet still we’re determined to find victory here