I got to tell you, what a computer thinks a man looks like, adversarially evolved hallucinations, is the kind of shit that wears me out. But, apparently, it isn’t the kind of shit that wears most other people out. Their focus is just too taken up with acquiring the essentials – liquor, guns, toilet paper, travel bottles of hand sanitizer – for them to ever notice the heart lying in rags at their feet, or the African monkeys rafting across the Atlantic, or the shrill, jangly sound in the background that can be variously translated as “hello” or “goodbye” or even “peace.”

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera: 99 100-word Prose Poems from Cajun Mutt Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.

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At the door, he affixes the stamp and writes out the address. He retrieves the long-carried letter that starts ‘Dear…Mom?’ and tucks it inside. He seals it, takes a deeper breath, and passes the letter through the slot.

From Guest Contributor Scott Burnam

My footsteps echo on the road pavement in the still, cool morning. It is eerie being out on the quiet streets. I walk before people are awake; the darkness is my ally, helping conceal me. I stop and hide when I hear voices from an approaching patrol. Flattened against the side of a garage, I hold my breath as they pass, innocently chattering. I venture into the street after I can no longer hear them. The punishment for violating the lockdown order is severe. Never would I have believed my country would use military patrols to enforce a lockdown policy.

From Guest Contributor NT Franklin

NT Franklin has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, CafeLit, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, among others.

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The footman turned to his friend and cried, “If only she had given him a son.”

From Guest Contributor Deborah Shrimplin

When we first encountered the Alavariuum, great expectations immediately spread across Earth. Not only were they a technologically-advanced extraterrestrial race from a thirteen-planet civilization 23 light years away, but they were friendly and offering to help us expand beyond our martian colonies.

Lately, many of the negotiators have admitted their enthusiasm is dampened. While still congenial, most of the committees and protocol meetings have become bogged down in naming conventions. The Alavariuum insist that every significant planet and star be referred to using their complicated symbology, and we’ll be damned if we’ll let anyone tell us what to call Earth.

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What came to pass? Life in red, gushing red. There was blood in the soup, blood in the stew, blood on the hands of my husband. I thought about the plagues in Egypt, the Pharaoh who knew about miracles turned against him. I thought about science. That what flows, surely ebbs? While the old king’s blood ran blue.

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Linda Lowe’s poems and stories have appeared in Gone Lawn, Crack the Spine, What Rough Beast, New Verse News, Tiny Molecules and others.

Brian stared at the devastation. Where once stood his immaculately kept garage, packed with 45-years worth of careful philatelic curation, was a skeletal frame and mound of black cinders. His eye would be diverted by what momentarily struck him as an envelope floating on the breeze, but turned out was nothing but ash.

His wife attempted consoling him. Imagine the insurance payout! But his devotion had never been about money. Only now, staring at the remains of his life’s work, did he truly understand his need for the comfort of a well-aligned stamp in a world of chaos and entropy.

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Hans anxiously responded “I’d have returned it sooner if it wasn’t for that damned Berlin Wall being built.” Their eyes briefly met before they erupted into gales of laughter.

From Guest Contributor Dougie Shepherd.

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“Sorry, but this drive-in is for whites only.”

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes

E. has works published at Entropy, Spillwords, The Purple Pen, The Haven, and several works are in the anthology, “NanoNightmares.”

Through the window, the sun beams against my face. It’s Easter Sunday and the family will be arriving this evening. I haven’t seen my cousins since the Covid-19 quarantine and we’re all nervous. Do we need to wear masks to avoid breathing on each other, I wonder? We didn’t discuss it, so my husband and I will take our chances.

I drop my glass when the doorbell rings. I can’t do it.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher