Christmas Wish

All six-year-old Charlie wanted for Christmas was a baby brother or sister. When he sat on Santa’s plump lap, he asked him for that wish. His response to the young boy was: “That’s out of my control little one.” Charlie sighed, slumped off his lap and walked in silence back to the car with his mom.

On Christmas morning, Charlie went to the Christmas tree and saw one large red gift box that moved and made whining noises. He lifted the cover and inside was a Shih-Tzu puppy that jumped into his arms.

The wish for a sibling faded away.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Wish

I cannot tell you how long it’s been since my yacht sank and I wound up here. I remember the storm and jumping into the life boat, praying that the rain pelting on my head eased and a ship would find me. I must’ve passed out from the cold because when I awakened, my body was muddy, freezing and drenched from the water. Sand and ocean surrounded me, and the boat had floated back into the sea. I was stranded on an island.

I wanted to spend time sailing alone.

Every day I wish I went to a movie instead.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Porcelain Money

Everything he touched turned to porcelain.

It wasn't like a wish turned wrong, just a straight up curse, placed on him by unlucky stars, or an aggrieved warlock, or just dumb luck.

He learned to live with after a while. It was inconvenient, but he managed to eat by having people gently place food into his throat and swallowing without chewing. Soups mostly.

Of course his love life was non-existent. Porcelain people in various stages of undress wasn't much of a fetish.

The good news was being King allowed him to declare porcelain as the only form of legal currency.

The Island

Emmett had one wish, a quiet place to call his own.

He found his island floating above the planes of a fractured, blackened Earth. A small, dark place, untouched by the sun as it hovers with a dizzying presence. This place does not feel like it belongs to the world that Emmett knows, but it has been here since time began and will continue even when the sun collapses, when all life on Earth ends.

It contains nothing except itself (nothing but pure consciousness), for this is space without form or substance, and it is a terrible sight to behold.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Wishing Well

“If XXXX (she named the presidential candidate she preferred) gets elected, you can make a wish and I’ll make sure it comes true,” she said and gave him a smile that didn’t leave room for any interpretation.

She had been on his mind for quite some time now, so it was pretty obvious what he’d wish for.

But he didn’t.

Having felt something disturbing in his private parts, he desired something completely different.

Good news came a few days later: her candidate won and his result for testicular cancer came back negative.

Unfortunately, the brain tumor hadn’t been noticed yet.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°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.

Thanks

I cannot thank you,little cat with serious eyes,for your gift of a dead mouse.

I flee from remindersof killing. I am a vegan, and it wouldbe easier if you were too.

But then I would loseyour playfulness and pounce, and turnyou into a timid, nibbling rabbit.

I love you for those things,for your wish to feed me, and foryour love for me, strange as

I must appear to you: so huge,so hairless, so hopeless a hunter. I am thankfulfor what I cannot understand, this strangelove than can span species.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Caesar

Cheryl lived in Paris, Tuscany and Sligo for 25 years; she earned her doctorate in comparative literature at the Sorbonne and taught literature and phonetics. She now teaches writing at Michigan State University. Last year she published over a hundred poems in the U.S., Germany, India, Bangladesh, Yemen, and Zimbabwe, and won third prize in the Singapore Poetry Contest for her poem on global warming. Her chapbook Flatman: Poems of Protest in the Trump Era is now available from Amazon and Goodreads.

The Path Between The Sky

A road runs from the bare hills until it touches by the river. It dips among the summer sage and beckons leaves to faintly whirl. For those who lightly travel, an aged silence lures a calm desire. The old pine chants along and offers to stitch a tired wish. The sun murmurs warmly as it climbs to the last needle's tip and chatters with so many dewdrops. Rummaging through fading prints, a low sigh rustles to a scattered impression. Here, it etches away brief moments of wonder and whispers a promise to follow when wings stray below to quietly suggest.

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.

Happy Valentine’s Day

It had been six months since Emma’s dog Max passed away. She still felt his head on her lap, breathing softly as she pet his head. She missed their walks together and his playful barks when she’d throw him the ball. He’d catch it every time, the ball hanging from his mouth.

The picture on the end table had been a favorite. Max in her arms, licking her fingers, tail wagging, a smile on Emma’s face cuddling her friend.

The doorbell rang, distracting Emma.

“Surprise,” her boyfriend said and placed the puppy in her arms.

Emma’s valentine wish came true.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

In A Momentary Trance

Her gentle swaying at the intersection made him stop abruptly on the sidewalk. She wore large headphones that were cocked forward on her head. Her eyes were closed and her head moved from side to side as if caught in an otherworldly trance. Her hands tapped out a sporadic beat against her sides.

Her lips began to move slowly at first then increased in speed. He watched her with a growing anticipation that left him glued in place. Suddenly, her mouth opened wide and she vehemently sang out lyrics to a song he never heard before, but wished he had.

From Guest Contributor Zane Castillo

Just A Cigarette

Sometimes I wish I smoked just to have something else to do. While I watch you paint the bodies of other women with your electrifying and magical fingertips, it feels almost natural to have a cigarette between my fingers. Yet I do not set my lungs on fire. I suspect it has something to do with your disapproval. You say smoking is a sign of suicidal behavior. You will not go out with a mental patient. So I quietly sit and watch as you caress and trace the contours of other women, happy not to be in a coffin instead.From Guest Contributor Suhasini Patni

Suhasini is a second year undergraduate at Ashoka University, in India, studying English literature. She has previously published a book review in The Tishman Review and a micro-fiction piece with A Quiet Courage, and hopes to publish many more. She is new to the publishing world but loves to write.