The Lottery Jackpot

“You know what I’d do if we ever win the Lottery Jackpot,” she says while she crumples this week’s ticket.

I’ve heard this before. She’ll start summing up wild and expensive dreams, each time leaving out some she no longer desires, but adding a few new extravaganzas.

“...south of France. An electric car, we’ve talked about this. It’s the latest fashion – we should definitely own one. Quit our jobs, obviously. And you won’t have to mow the lawn of that young widow twice a week any more.”

I sure as hell hope we never win that freaking Lottery Jackpot.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and hasn’t stopped since.

Calypso: Bright-Eyed Goddess

Unknown amongst them,she sits; awe and wonder.Blazing eyes searching,surrounded, glorious banquet,wondering of the occasion.‘Where is your father?’Calypso forbidden his return!Wanting the strong man herself,locked away, a vaulted cave;awaiting his love.

Prisoner of the Nymph’s love.‘I actually heard he was home!’The gods, it seemed, had sinister plans.Not returned from battle,vanished, Never to be seen again.

‘What is the meaning of this banquet?’Men of Troy had heard of the banishment,their behavior animalistic.Seeking the love of the ‘widow,’leaving the son belittled,doomed to an inglorious future.

From Guest Contributor Melissa Land

A Table For Two

“For two, please,” the woman muttered, fondling the wedding ring on her slim finger. The waiter escorted her to an empty table with a dim candle.

“Would you like anything to drink?”

“Just a glass of wine for me.”

“Anything else?” His eyes were fixed on the bare seat, before shifting to her.

She shook her head firmly, avoiding eye contact. As the waiter walked away, the woman pulled out a small picture frame and placed it on the opposite end of the table. It bared the image of a man in uniform. She smiled at him solemnly.

Happy anniversary.

From Guest Contributor Alex Vuong

Alex lives his life out loud and in vibrant color. He loves to put on his headphones and dance through his room. Alex is always looking for opportunities to learn new music and create more art.

Collect

The men stand quietly, exchanging cigarettes and glances. There is nothing to say.

A klaxon sounds. More than one man sighs with relief: the mine-cage rises from below. Two men open the cage doors, collect the dripping bones of the man who lost the draw.

“Sacrifice accepted,” the mine owner announces, as though the men can't see the evidence themselves.

The bones are buried. The widow and children will receive a fat check from the owner, and much pity for the “unpreventable accident.”

“Okay, boys,” the foreman slaps his hat on. “Go ahead and collect. Coal ain't gonna fetch itself.”

From Guest Contributor Laura Lovic-Lindsay

A Modern Fable

The old man who lived on the hill was named Mr. Hill. He was so stingy, he even begrudged giving affection.

At the bottom of the hill, there lived an old widow. She was named Mrs. Bottoms. She was extremely lonely because no one from the town ever visited her.

The town social worker, her name was Mrs. Church, decided it would be a good idea to get Mr. Hill to marry Mrs. Bottoms. She concocted a very complicated plan to bring them together.

Although Mr. Hill and Mrs. Bottoms did indeed marry, their union brought neither of them happiness.

Don't Talk To Me About Love Spells

Everyone knows when it comes to doing magic, widows are the worst. They're always going on about love spells or hunting down unicorns and mermaids to achieve eternal youth. None of it ever works.

You might consider my complaints a narrow-minded view and accuse me of the worst kind of chauvinism. I agree with you whole-heartedly that gender prejudice has no place in our enlightened age. But the fact is that widows just aren't any good at magic. Even when it works, it doesn't work anything like how it's intended.

And that's how I ended up with these golden testes.

The Stray Cats Of Glen Eden

Glen Eden would otherwise be quite charming if not for the herd of cats.

They are unlike any cats you have ever seen. The size of golden retrievers, with husky fur, they have thoroughly overrun the village.

Their favorite spot is the widow's cabin. She not only feeds them fish and chicken in individual bowls, but she always keeps her fire burning, making her roof an especially balmy spot for naps.

The cats don't normally eat humans, but knowing that there have been attacks from time to time is enough to make any visit to Glen Eden a harrowing affair.