Isolated

House manager Morgan came into my room. He sniffed the air and looked disapproving.

“Mrs Towne,” he began, “The Cobra Committee has issued an edict that there are to be no more visitors.”

I didn't mind. Old age had already picked off my friends and family like a sniper.

“And you cannot go out,” he added. “You'll just have to wait here until you die.”

He smiled to show it was a joke. Hilarious. I was truly isolated now. The other residents were deaf or dumb or their brain was out to lunch, or all three.

Then the telephone rang.

From Guest Contributor Derek McMillan

Derek is the writer of "Murder from Beyond the Grave" available on eBay.

The Statue

The old master carved the tortured limbs and anguished face out of the stone.

Christ on the cross came from his very soul, he who had witnessed war, massacres and the plague that had taken his wife and dearest daughter, his whole life seeming one long crucifixion.

He cursed the God that had forsaken him and the bishop who had commissioned the artifact for the new cathedral. Tired and sick, he died a few days after the statue was completed.

For centuries after his death, visitors stood in awe before his creation that spoke of suffering and, to some, redemption.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher

Dreamland

The lake has an island that has a church on it with fine black cracks etched all over. It’s the place where disaster originated. Everything else has been declared safe for visitors. The sky is an orange I never experienced before. A smell like the rancid diapers of the spawn of Satan crawls through trees. A fox poses in front of a sign that says NO JEWS AND ANIMALS ALLOWED. Joggers, dog walkers, and parents with strollers slow down as they go past. I catch the expression on their faces, mostly a combination of surprise and puzzlement. Sometimes they smile.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of two new poetry collections, The Death Row Shuffle (Finishing Line Press, 2020) and The Trouble with Being Born (Ethel Micro-Press, 2020).

Maxine and Me

Linda bought it for me at the museum gala. "So many wonderful things for a donation." she said, "You should have come, my dear! Meet new people."

She's part mother, part matchmaker. I need both.

But do I need this? A burnt, ugly, pockmarked lump of rock. The note with it read "Deaccessioned. Meteorite acquired by Dr. Harris, Labrador 1905. Once much larger, visitors took pieces for many years."

My friend must think I'm like this thing. Dark, scarred. Fragmentary since Bruce left.

I call it Maxine. Sits brooding under a lamp on my desk. We keep each other company.

From Guest Contributor Karen Walker

Memorials

Through the fog and overgrowth that chokes the front yard, an eruption of tulips grows on either side of the doorway, an invitation to visitors that stopped visiting decades ago. They are the only splash of color on the otherwise gray facade of the crumpling structure that used to be a house.

Tulips once required cold weather to survive. Somehow these plants learned to adapt, and are now in flower nearly year round. A stark contrast to the failure of civilization all around them. Were anyone still alive who could understand, there's a metaphor to be found in those plants.

Strange Happenings In Northern Pucklechurch

John Nithercott exited his front door to find a clutter of mushrooms in his front lawn. Nor were these ordinary mushrooms. Fantastically colored in psychedelic neon, the shortest one stood over three feet tall.

John diligently choose not to pay any mind to the unwanted visitors as he plodded by. He prided himself on his stolid demeanor in even the worst circumstances, and he refused to give his neighbor the satisfaction of seeing him disturbed.

Mr. Periwinkle was undoubtedly watching, wondering if his latest deceit would finally force John from the neighborhood. One more example of why John hated fairies.

First Contact Downer

First contact occurred in the year twenty twenty-two.

The spaceship lands on a cold rainy day. December the seventh at eight fifteen in the evening.

Many high-ranking government officials from around the world are lined up by the tarmac waiting to greet the visitors.

Around the landing site crowds have gathered from all around the globe. Hoping to get a glimpse of aliens on this historic occasion.

A sliding hatch opens and a group of aliens depart the ship.

The two sides make small talk. There is great disappointment when earthlings learn the race of aliens is called Kill Humans.

From Guest Contributor Denny E. Marshall

The Songbird

There's a songbird outside my house that knows the tune to every standard of the last fifty years. He drives me crazy.

He never stops singing, not while I'm at home anyway. How sexually frustrated does this bird have to be to tweet Paul Simon and Barry Manilow all day long? Visitors find him quaint and always want to take video, and then they make me watch their posts on YouTube. I'm thinking of shooting myself.

He says he'll keep at it until I do, because of how I shot his wife last winter. It's a decision I regret now.