Fresh Start

I’m spending New Year’s Eve with my Shih-Tzu Millie, sitting on the couch with a novel, sipping wine and eating crackers. I’ll turn on the television when it gets close to midnight. In the meantime, I’m enjoying the last few nights of the Christmas tree and its decorations. Millie tugs at my sweater since I’ve been ignoring her, so I rub her stomach. I check my watch and turn on the television. The ball begins its descent.

As I sit and wait, I reflect on the many mistakes I made and hope the new year will be a fresh start.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Thrilling Conclusion

The end came as a surprise. Endings always do. It got to the point he was checking his watch, wondering how much longer this could possibly go on, but then it was suddenly the denouement, and he looked about wondering if anyone else had seen this coming, and they all had. He was the only one caught unawares.

Weird how it works out that way.

He choose to think about the last walk they took together, and the first walk, and all the walks in between. They were always the same walk, but he'd give everything for just one more.

In response to Thrilling Conclusion by Robert Wood Lynn

Spring

Spring is wonderful in Michigan. The snow melt signals that the warm weather has arrived. Flowers begin to bloom. Birds and squirrels appear out of nowhere, ready to embrace the new growth all around.

Jenny steps outside, bracing for the biting wind, only to realize she has on too many layers. Her watch says it's 60 degrees, the warmest day of the year so far. When she moved to Kalamazoo for grad school, she'd worried the winters would be too intense. Growing up in Atlanta, she was seven the first time she saw snow.

The only problem: It's January 12th.

Relativists

A twin, jealous of her sister’s looks, sends her into outer space.

-The joke’s on you, says their mother. She will return younger than you. And, she’ll look even better.

Doesn’t she know time is an illusion? Then again, she believes the sun rises and sets.

-She knows an illusion when she sees it, says the mother. She’s always been the smart one.

The mother glances down at her watch. It runs more slowly when in motion, treating time like taffy: the greater the pull, the more it stretches.

-Gravity, she seethes.

You always liked her better, says the twin.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell

Cheryl's recent fiction has appeared in Switch, Does It Have Pockets? Gone Lawn, Necessary Fiction, Pure Slush, and elsewhere.

Shadows Of The Forgotten Timepiece

He never uttered the word curse, but Dante had no doubt his life was marked for tragedy.

From his car accident at 16, to the string of outlandish catastrophes that followed him like ducklings throughout adulthood, including bouts of homelessness, addiction, and illness, both mental and physical in nature, Dante never caught a break, until finally he simply gave up all together.

Most of those who knew poor Dante blamed his lack of willpower. But they might have thought differently had they realized every misfortune occurred at exactly 3:13 PM. The same time he'd broken his grandfather's lucky watch.

You...Just Watch

“Do you have the time?”

I had never seen this youngster before – I would have remembered.

“Of course,” I replied. I looked at my watch and told him the exact time.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I would like to know if you have the time.”

“Well, I’m a bit ahead of schedule right now. So, yes. Sure. I can spare a few minutes. What is it you wanted to talk about?”

He shook his head and walked away slowly.

“Judging by your answers, you are not the one who has the time. You’re the one with the watch.”

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé Suys (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

The Celebration

Where was he?

Anxious guests chattered in anticipation of what would happen next. The priest glanced at the row of individuals immediately before him. Then, at his watch.

Time passed on. The front door opened. A man rushed in.

No one turned to greet him. No talking caught his ears.

Who would’ve believed his story of being caught up in traffic when he was golfing with friends and lost track of time?

He fumbled in his dress jacket pocket, finding the wedding ring lodged in its creases.

Despite his absence as ‘best man’, he hoped his brother’s wedding went well.From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada.

Equals

“Hurry up with those bricks!” the manager screamed.

The workers glared at him but moved faster, wheeling bricks to the concrete slab.

Looking at his watch, the manager scowled. “This building isn’t going to make itself. If you work harder, maybe one day you’ll be my equal.”

The group of men laughed and shook their heads. They spoke in their native tongue, their words meaningless to the manager.

“What are you saying? Speak English!”

They looked at him with contempt, and a man stepped forward before answering, “Learn our language and find out, then maybe someday you’ll be our equal.”

From Guest Contributor Caitlyn Palmer

Street Hustle

“Hey man, wanna buy a Rolex,” the punk in the shiny nylon jacket asked as he approached me on the street.

"How much?” I asked as I looked around to see if he had a partner. He didn’t.

“Thirty bucks, and it’s the real thing,” he told me as he handed the watch to me.

I pretended to be examining the watch, when I said “hold on,” as I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my badge.

“Metro vice,” I announced as I reached for my handcuffs. He spun around and ran like Jack the bear towards Fremont.

From Guest Contributor Leroy B. Vaughn

Under Watch

Armed agents conceal themselves in doorways and behind lampposts and newspapers. You just passed by one and didn’t even know you had. Time to electrocute your thinking. They’re paid to spy, and they spy on people like me – an old man walking a dog on a rope – who’ve done nothing wrong. I can’t sleep through the night for worry that they’re building a dossier against me by twisting something I said. Is it becoming a grass armchair? A black wall? A crying mirror? If it is, I’m finished. One day I’ll squeeze into a crowded elevator that’ll disappear between floors.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's latest collections are I'm Not a Robot from Tolsun Books and A Room at the Heartbreak Hotel from Analog Submissions Press.