Lake

The cool lake soothed my warm feet. It was a stifling day and the sun beat on my neck. Trickles of perspiration dripped down my back as I watched people pass by in row boats waving their hands fanning themselves as if that would break the heat. Some were prepared with water in toe and shading.

There wasn’t a light breeze or cloud in the sky, just complete aridity. I didn’t care. The water always gave me respite and I needed it today before going home.

I wanted to enjoy the moment before telling my wife I lost my job.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Cosmic Illumination

“Northern lights?” Jonathan pointed skyward.

“No. Stardust. We’re too far south for Northern Lights,” replied Dad.

They viewed the spectacle in awe.

“I want to be an astronaut when I grow up,” Jonathan stated.

“I know. You say that often enough.”

“What are you making?”

“Cosmic pudding,” answered Dad, pouring water into a foil bag.

His son’s face changed from fascination to frustration.

“What’s tomorrow’s supper?” Jonathan asked.

“Hamburgers.”

“Real hamburgers?”

“Real, but with pita bread. Buns would cause floating crumbs, a major hazard in a spacecraft.”

“Dad, where’s the nearest burger place?”

“Thought you want to be an astronaut.”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Branded

“Do you see the donut,” the cancer specialist asks, sounding suddenly anxious, “or just the hole?” My eyes burn, though tears are 98 percent water. Once cancer touches you, you belong to it, you’re marked with the herd brand. It would take something like a miracle for me to recover. Yesterday, to the shock of tourists, a statue of the Virgin Mary in a fourteenth-century cathedral in Linz appeared to go into labor. Belief is contagious. And so, I lie in bed at night with all the windows open, listening intently to the gregarious insects at ease in the dark.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's latest poetry collection, True Crime, was published by Sacred Parasite in Berlin this year.

Life In The Country

A rainbow fills the sky with blue, yellow and red colors, the vibrancy a sign it’s going to be a beautiful day. The birds chirp and soar above, their wings spread, adding to the calm of the setting.

I have the blanket and picnic ready for when he arrives, and the delicious aroma of fried chicken and ribs make my mouth water.

I throw pieces of bread into the pond for the ducks as they quack, swim, and cool in the water.

I left the city for the tranquil life of the country and I don’t regret it.

Not ever.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Captain

The captain’s mother decided to prepare her son for a watery death. She took the boy to the seaside and held his head underwater. The captain screamed and thrashed, for the Mer people mocked him. They said you’re a Man O’ War: a floating bag of gas. But then the captain fell in love with the Mer king. One day when his mother held him under, he made to kiss the king. The king accepted his kiss by filling the boy’s lungs with water. Then he approached the mother and said, “I will be your captain.” “I accept,” she said.

From Guest Contributor Jeremy Nathan Marks

Living Water

After the world died, when our water had left us and even the sea divulged its deepest secrets, that was when they came. They had waited until our darkest, driest hour. And with them came the living water. And so we drank. But in our haste to escape the desert we had made of our world, we were blind. They had made the water a gift, to save us from ourselves. But the living water was a bitter gift. For it was alive; alive with them. And now, we are satiated. But now we are them, and they are us.

From Guest Contributor J.S. Apsley

Jog

I jog along the pathway with my Shih-Tzu Bentley, but the sunshine and heat cause me to stop and rest. Bently jumps on the bench panting. I pour water in the large plastic bowl I brought for him and drink the rest out of the bottle. I probably shouldn’t be jogging in this heat, but my compulsive tendencies tell me otherwise. After a ten-minute rest, I start again along the path.

Sweat drips down my forehead and the temperature feels intense. Suddenly, I get a shooting pain in the chest, and collapse to the ground, Bentley barking.

Everything goes black.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Skipping Stones

I once skipped a stone 17 times across Lake Wawasee. It was one of those still days when the water is pure glass and you can see the clouds clearly reflected on the surface. We competed in hunting for the smoothest rocks all morning. I found one that was round and flat and just the right weight so I saved it until last. No one else got more than 11 and I was proclaimed the rock-skipping champion of Indiana.

I've never skipped a stone since. I'm satisfied knowing I once achieved a moment of perfection that can never be matched.

Bricks

Being a responsible sort, Pig Number Three set about building a house entirely out of bricks. This was before you could go online and order bricks delivered to your door. Besides, Pig Number Three had neither a door nor an address, so he was forced to make his bricks from scratch.

The process involved mixing clay, water, sand, and straw, then shaping the material into rectangles, drying them, and baking them at high temperatures in a kiln.

Pigs Number One and Two laughed at his labors. Everyone knew the wolves in the area had been hunted into extinction years before.

Bird With A Broken Wing

One day a bird with a broken wing showed up on the back porch of the old man’s house. He tried nursing the bird back to health. He bought birdseed and he put out water. He took the bird to the vet, and the vet told him there really wasn’t anything they could do for the bird; the wing would never heal enough for the bird to fly again. The man took the bird back home, but the vet was right. One day the man looked out at the porch and saw a single feather, but the bird was gone.

From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten