Rain

The rain pelted my windshield, and the wipers provided minimal vision. My heart pounded and my hands gripped the steering wheel. I drove at a slow pace and prayed the weather would calm down and hoped the next exit would be soon.

“Lilly, remember how terrible the weather was on our first date. We watched the raindrops from the restaurant window, and you commented on how nature can get angry at any time. That’s when I kissed you for the first time. Your raspberry lip balm tasted so sweet.”

I glanced at the empty seat wishing she were still alive.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Story Of An Artist

Troubled childhood, searching for escape. Persecuted for a vision of the world the world found uncomfortable.

One person called him a genius. Everyone called him a genius. His genius defined the zeitgeist of the moment. His genius transcended the moment and stood the test of time.

His paintings sold for millions. His paintings captured the hearts of millions. His paintings were copied by millions.

His influence was everywhere. His reputation cast a shadow over all the artists who followed. His fame is eternal.

Every person who knew him knew him to be an asshole. He was especially cruel to women.

Ghosts

There's a refraction of light that occurs in the brightest sun, causing apparitions to appear. The superstitious call them ghosts.

People rarely fear these daytime ghosts. For most, hauntings happen after dark, when even the slightest sound or flicker at the edge of their vision can set their hearts and imaginations racing.

Philip knows better. His ghosts are worst at high noon. The more there is to look at, the less you're able to see. And so the ghosts of all those enemy soldiers he killed in the War attend him daily, and he can only drink himself to oblivion.

Vernon Dreams Of Love

Vernon had a mighty fine vision of a better life. Though the East had been kind to him, his yearning for adventure in the Wild West was powerful.

He dreamt of wide-open prairies and a sky lit by a million untamed stars. Somethin' he'd only read about in books. The drawings of them big ol' mountain ranges plumb near took his breath away.

Unbeknownst to Vernon was the expanse of Manitoba, sometimes called âpisînikan by the Cree, which means someone who rises from the dead. Soon, his easygoing lifestyle would be disturbed as hordes of undead settlers blocked his path.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Welcome, Everyone, To The Vortex Universe.

One night, the sky's illumination changes and Harland sees the galaxy open up. The stars fade away as hundreds upon thousands of brand-new ones are born. The light reappears, and he watches as, one after another, the familiar stars disappear again. After a new dawn, the sky will shine with the beauty of new creation, as new forms of life will emerge, be nurtured, become powerful, and change the course of history.

Harland's vision starts to fade, and he rests his head on his desk in silent contemplation and smiles. The grip of the world slips away.

Life is good.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

The Fall Of The Roman Empire

Frank stumbles down the street in broad daylight. The crisp air helps dull the pain in his wounds. Lightheaded and off balance, he is reminded of late nights in college, wandering drunkenly back to his dorm room. His vision now has the same tunnel focus that causes him to lose sight of his surroundings.

He'd never finished that final essay for History of Rome, but Professor Dutton had allowed him to pass anyway. She'd always liked him. Maybe it was her fault that he'd never learned any discipline.

What a weird thing to remember as he is about to die.

Shadowfax Marie

Just before he’s seventy, just before seven in the morning he finds Shadowfax Marie at the 6068 Spa, lets her drift him into his morning pages, levitate him, lets him forget everything, dismisses all of his desires--even his morning coffee, even his Beloved (still in bed, dreaming he’s still there, sleeping, beside her).

His wings, though, are only borrowed and insubstantial. Before he can float away, he remembers his flesh, recalls his agenda, and realizes that there’s a day ahead during which Shadowfax Marie will inevitably fade; a day filled with no sound worth hearing, no vision worth sharing.

From Guest Contributor Ron. Lavalette

Ron.’s debut chapbook, Fallen Away (Finishing Line Press) is now available at all standard outlets. Many of his published works can be found at EGGS OVER TOKYO

River Of Memories

Fishel sent his wife and two boys away even though Adella insisted they stay until his fever broke. He wouldn’t hear of it. The “Wolves” could arrive at any moment, and he didn’t want to risk his family.

Fishel’s temperature raged, and he became delirious, his wife a constant vision. Too weak to travel, he went to bed, fell into a deep slumber, and dreamt of his family.

Stomping and yelling awakened him from his pleasant dream.

Four Nazi’s burst through the door, guns pointed at Fishel’s face.

“Get up Jew.”

He obeyed and left a river of memories behind.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Special Sauce

Maybe advertising was the wrong field for Bob. His boss, Ralph, passed him up for the accounts he wanted, like “Granola Gambit” and “Veg It Up,” giving those to his arch-nemesis, Ted. Bob kept getting accounts like “Killer Shrimp” and “Pork for Your Fork.” (Bob was a known vegan; passive aggressive much, Ralph?) Bob would’ve left ages ago had it not been for his secret love for his coworker, Darlene. He couldn’t shake the vision he’d had of her one day when he’d come upon her eating barbecued ribs like a wild animal. She’d been covered in sauce, but adorable.

From Guest Contributor Susmita Ramani

Susmita lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and two children. She’s a lifelong writer whose work has appeared in The Daily Drunk, Nymeria Publishing (winner of March 2021 poetry contest), 50 Word Stories, and Vine Leaves Press (50 Give or Take), and will appear in upcoming issues of Short Fiction Break and Secret Attic.

Flower Girl

Springtime breeds passion. It is the riotous pheromones.

A vision wanders down the garden path in a sundress that waves in the breeze like the surrounding petals. Swaying, they dance together. Her radiant smile and obvious love for the flirting blossoms is what originally caught my attention. She gently sprinkles water.

One of her solar smiles would make my life soar. She doesn't notice me among all this teeming beauty. Nonetheless, in love-struck desire, I sit taller as she approaches. Surely, if she can adore flowers so fully, I can cherish her as much. If only I wasn't a cactus.

From Guest Contributor Bill Diamond