The art of manipulation or being a spy is something. To be a double agent or triple agent even is more interesting than one would expect.

To get into a government or corporation and manipulate it towards good? Something very few can do. The intentions of corporations along with the state is to control the minds of the people the system of things enslaves. To change the doctrine even a bit can cause pain. Free humanity.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Clinton is an expat, filmmaker, and story teller

He said he was blown over, that the breeze from the kitchen door had left him defenseless. But our Lord sees only in black and white. The laws are clear: no dust bunny shall enter another bunny’s land–no exceptions. A silent crowd awaits as the trespasser is dragged into the dimly lit square: thrashing, kicking, pleading. It is pointless. Laws are laws, we must simply obey. He is tied to the base of a pink cocktail umbrella. We all turn our heads to our Lord expectantly. He gives a simple nod. The match is struck and the pyre lit.

From Guest Contributor Skyler Bath

Ten, nine, eight jumps to go. Nick meets my gaze. Seven, six, five, four.

Grown-ups shouldn’t keep diaries. It’s not like I’m Anaïs Nin for goodness sake!

From Guest Contributor Isabelle B.L

Isabelle is a teacher based in France. She has published a novel inspired by the life of a New Caledonian feminist and politician. Her work can be found in the Best Microfiction 2022 anthology, Visual Verse, Free Flash Fiction and elsewhere.

Meanwhile, Franz Kafka sells another piece of his dead mother’s jewelry to pay for his brothel visits. Pablo Picasso and Henri Matisse go horseback riding together. Alma Mahler has just aborted their child. The police question Picasso, but he has an alibi and they release him after slapping him around. Summer is fading, and Rainer Maria Rilke feels it as a wound in his chest. Using an alias, Adolf Hitler boards a train for Munich to escape conscription in the Austro-Hungarian army. Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa is missing from the Louvre. Museumgoers lay flowers in front of the bare wall.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie’s latest poetry collection, THE HORSES WERE BEAUTIFUL, is forthcoming from Grey Book Press.

As I pass through the automatic doors into the library, the smell of musty books fills the air. I browse the shelves for what seems like hours until I come across a fantasy novel with magic and fire breathing dragons. My favorite.

All my worries fade away.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Christos and Lieberman, veteran development engineers, played chess every lunch hour. Watson, a young engineer, joined the project, watched them play and immediately starting making unwanted comments. They put up with him for two weeks.

“Mate,” Lieberman added and did likewise.

From Guest Contributor Ronald Larsen

There is an island floating above a shattered and charred plane of earth. It’s a little black island, untouched by the sun, hovering above with an unsettling presence. It is awaiting something.

This pit is the only law. It will not be content until it has devoured everything in the world.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

The bullet tore through flesh and bone. The arm fell limp, and Officer Brady drew his weapon with his non-shooting hand. Their assailant continued to fire from outside the passenger window of the cruiser as his partner slumped unconscious and bleeding in the front seat. Her baby was born in spring. She returned to duty last week.

Placing his front sight on center mass, Brady squeezed the trigger and watched the attacker drop to the pavement. After screaming “officer down” into the microphone, he smashed his foot down on the accelerator, racing the mother of his child to New York-Presbyterian.

From Guest Contributor B.G. Smith

B.G. Smith enjoys writing flash fiction and drinking Kentucky straight bourbon, usually at the same time. B.G. is a married father of four boys and a lifelong fan of Philadelphia professional sports teams, which explains the affinity for bourbon. His stories have appeared in Pocket Fiction, Microfiction Monday Magazine, The Drabble, and Scribes*MICRO*Fiction.

Wandering the multiverse. I find the concept of change the bi-word of everything. One day, the illusion spells the reality of a word one way. The next day, the reality spells it another. The definition of wisdom is to come to some understanding? Probably why I still have not mastered how to play the cord of C on a guitar.

If everything changes from one reality to the next. What is the purpose of study? Defining a reality for when the next moment you could be elsewhere seems the definition of absurdity. To waste time trying to understand. Try to succeed.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

The horror of an early morning bombardment urged the boy in the torn jacket to seek his mom. Out of debris and rubble, he most needed the dearest soul to hug him tightly.

I have never regretted my choice. Ian has substituted our once-unborn-child, ‘the diamond in the sky,’ as we call him with Liz.

From Guest Contributor Taras Bereza

Taras is a professional lexicographer at ‘Apriori Publishers’ with 10 published dictionaries. He has worked as a contributing freelance writer since 2006 and wrote for Bacopa Literary Review and Freedom With Writing.