Today is a very special day for my mom and me. Today we are going to meet with our father after a long time. I am very excited for it. But the meeting period is very short, just 10 minutes.

It’s really a special day for both of us.

From Guest Contributor Prapti Gupta

He would have been handsome if it weren’t for the cheeks left pitted by adolescent acne. In what seemed an attempt to distract from the scars, he dressed with obvious expense. He also carried a small black satchel everywhere. There was talk that under another name he had once been a backstreet abortionist or a doctor in a concentration camp. When he died and the satchel was opened, it was found to contain a ski mask such as stickup men wear, a Florida orange, and a book of 105 poems, all of them about the death of the poet’s child.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie’s most recent poetry collection is Gunmetal Sky, available from Thirty West Publishing.

After my death, one half of my soul rose to the heavens, and the other half slept underground. My blood seeped into the roots of weeds. When the village held a festival, my daughter cut the grass and wove my halved soul into a dog-shaped chugou. She placed me beneath my husband’s bed. After a while, my husband tossed about and moaned in sleep.

My daughter stood over him and flung down her hatchet. His blood dripped through the mattress and onto the floor. I chuckled as I learned who had murdered me while asleep.

From Guest Contributor Yuki Fuwa

Yuki Fuwa is a Japanese writer from Osaka. In 2020, she was named a finalist for the first Reiwa Novel Prize. In the same year, her short story was a finalist in the first Kaguya SF Contest. Translated by Toshiya Kamei, Yuki’s short fiction has appeared in New World Writing.

She did not say yes.

She never wanted marriage.
She never wanted this.

From Guest Contributor Anne Silva.

Anne is a student writer from Sri Lanka. She publishes her writing on social media as Poetry of Despair.
You can read them at www.instagram.com/PoetryofDespair.

Bills. They stacked up like a child’s art project on the kitchen
table, each stamped red with the word “overdue.” The house was
crumbling down, the wallpaper peeling off every panel. The walls
trembled as the couple screamed at each other. Blame flew like
household objects; lamps, chairs, and plates.

So they stayed awake, until the sunlight streaked in through the
broken blinds and the couple was ready to start the routine over
again.

From Guest Contributor Artie Kuyper

Silvia, sound asleep, pleasantly dreamed of the beach, her solace.

When she returned that evening, a glimmering halo lay on her pillow.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

“You crack me up!” Benjamin cackled.

“How much eggshell does this thing have?”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada.

I was nervous about interviewing for the job, but my confidence rose as soon as I walked into the anteroom. My only competition seemed to be ignoramuses with a fixed repertoire of inanities and washed-up ballplayers in the habit of spitting. Forty minutes later, my name was called. “I’ll lick stamps,” I told the gargoyle from HR. “I’ll lick whatever you want.” He looked at my wrinkled boots and patched coat and just shook his big ugly head. Some may be born with a tragic sense of life. Others are like me and acquire it by dint of long effort.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie’s most recent poetry collection is Gunmetal Sky, available from Thirty West Publishing.

You look like a sailor, sir. I thought so. Do me a favor, will you? Take me with you. You could use a talisman in space. Listen, I used to be just like you. How did I get my peg leg? Aye, I wrestled a space shark and lost my leg. After we passed through a wormhole, we ran aground here. All I do now is meow, lick my paws clean, and cough up hairballs. I’m easy to care for. I promise. Proud to be potty trained. Tuna-flavored Meow Mix will do. Take me with you. You won’t regret it.

From Guest Contributor Umiyuri Katsuyama
Translated by Toshiya Kamei

Umiyuri Katsuyama is a Japanese writer of fantasy and horror. In 2011, she won the Japan Fantasy Novel Award with her novel Sazanami no kuni. Her latest novel, Chuushi, ayashii nabe to tabi wo suru, was published in 2018. Her short fiction has appeared in numerous horror anthologies in Japan.

“Do you want me to hold the…?”

Sometimes. It tickles.

From Guest Contributor Brennan Thomas