Hunting

I left the cabin against my wife’s wishes and ventured into the woods hunting for anything that might feed my family. Within minutes the wind picked up and I found myself struggling in knee-deep drifts and knew an arduous journey was ahead. Would there be any rabbits or deer to hunt? Am I the only one who has a starving wife and children?

I continued my quest until my body tired and I had to rest. I collapsed to the ground, snow pelting my face, and my toes frozen.

I closed my eyes and knew my hunting days were over.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Rationale

Summer has been washed and hung to dry across the equinox. Quibble gathers the last of his alien friends for a farewell. To feast, they eat the neighbor’s two loudest dogs. Those dogs kept Quibble away at night barking at wishes and dreams. Quibble does not partake of the meat, but he imagines the joy the aliens conclude. At the end of the farewell celebration, the aliens open a portal between the shed and fence line and fall one by one through. Quibble only mentions the aliens when his neighbor tries to blame him for the disappearance of the dogs.

From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner

Wishes

I saw a comet yesterday. It came as though from nowhere, soaring across the deep blue expanse of sky inset with bright stars. Watching it, I felt youthful again, glowing with vibrant dreams and astronomical aspirations—reborn like a phoenix from the ashes of adulthood.

In a moment of euphoria, I closed my eyes and wished for the love of my life. The fiery tail ripped through the night, searching for my soulmate. When I opened my eyes, my wife was standing before me.

Then I remembered—comets are hard, icy rocks, and they suck the life from the sun.

From Guest Contributor Taylor Shepeard

Mall Christmas

Christmas shoppers crush the mall their noisy chatter drowning out tinny holiday music. Fairy lights glimmer from boughs bedecked with fusty smelling red bows. At the epicenter of the mayhem is Santa Claus, surrounded by dingy fluffy snow. Corralling people into a staggering line, the elves keep order as Santa's beard is yanked -- it's real! -- and wishes whispered in his ear. A ruffled and flustered child heads for the over-sized presents next to Santa's worn throne. Ripping shiny paper away, the child's eyes fill with tears -- it's empty! A quick-thinking elf offers a fat orange. Tears gone. Christmas is saved!

From Guest Contributor D. K. White-Atkinson

Company

When Bill and Melissa arrived home, they found that every floor in their house had been covered with clover. The couple was understandably frightened.

Reports had been circulating for weeks of belligerent leprechauns running loose in the city. It had been dangerous for them to even leave their home, but Bill had insisted they'd be safe at the park.

It may have been Stockholm syndrome, but having the leprechauns in their home didn't seem so bad. There was plenty of whiskey and dancing, plus they were granted a few minor wishes.

But after 600 years, their company has grown quite tiresome.