A Far Worse Fate

“I’m sorry, your majesty,” squeaked mouse, prostrate in the straw.

The great lion sighed.

“When I saved you, I laughed at your offer. Now I am caught in this cage I can laugh no more.”

“My brothers and sisters will set you free,” promised the tiny mouse.

“This cage is electrified,” explained the lion. “Chew these bars and you’ll die.”

“So you are fated then to be a head on a wall?” wailed the mouse in disbelief.

“No little one,” sighed the lion. “My fate’s far worse.”

The Circus Train gave a shrill whistle as it pulled into the station.

From Guest Contributor Tim Law

Learning To Read

I lean into my chair holding the book by its bind, learning to read what I did not as a child, but now with gray in my stubble. Flipping through the pages, feeling the paper crease between my fingers, I fumble to link it all together.

I follow the words with a methodical dexterity of a trained scientist, and with repetition, I begin to sense the fruits of my labor, basking in the glow of my mother’s maiden language come alive.

The exercise ends with a whistle, as I close my cookbook and taste the pepperpot burn my overeager tongue.

From Guest Contributor Eric Persaud

Eric is an Indo-Guyanese American living in New York City. He is currently working on his doctoral dissertation in Public Health and writing stuff in his free time.

Along The River

Tawny wings tail the Arkansas and their shadows brush Russian olive. A hoo! drifts along begging recognition. Drowning the scuttle of waves, a quavering reply invites determination. Feathers ripple towards cottonwoods, nudging the fading sunlight across leaves and between branches. He allows a hoot to stray ahead asking for her to answer with a wandering whistle. The night approaches with a dimming silence that hushes happenings of the day and offers silhouettes. Moonlight shifts over a hollow as a frayed figure sails with unfurled wings. They settle below the canopy and dust bark with steadied feathers, ceasing flight for tonight.

From Guest Contributor Kristi Kerico

Kristi is a psychology major at Pikes Peak Community College. She is studying to become a horticultural therapist. She currently works at a bookstore and volunteers at a zoo and nature center. She began writing after enrolling in a creative writing course at PPCC. She enjoys poetry the most, considering it's brief yet complex beauty. She also loves writing with a focus on nature.

Alice Falls For A Killer

She surmises blood stains under everything. His skin is cracked like hard dirt in a barren winter. "You could use baby oil," she says. Later, they share a half-gallon of chocolate chip ice cream, her treat. They always meet by the railroad tracks because of his love of trains and exit signs. He speaks in fragments, and she imagines his past is dammed up, full of unexplained absences. She wants to show him her breasts under the moonlight. She wants to hear him whistle so shrilly it will puncture the dark. Then, the darkness will erase the both of them.

From Guest Contributor Kyle Hemmings

Anthropology 101

You hear the droning, a high-pitched whistle that keeps interrupting your sleep. It's your anthropology professor, bombinating about some god awful theory of ethnography that can't possibly be as interesting as the dream you're having.

You hate anthropology and its awkward mixture of science and philosophy. What does Dr. Dunham have to tell you about modern-day reality.

And then you understand that life was all an illusion, that the reality may be that you are spending your last living moments in the Arctic on a scientific expedition, and as you die of exposure, the 100-mile-per-hour winds whistle in your ear.