The Egyptians used ocean-faring vessels during the height of their empire, and modern Peruvian fishermen still use similar reed boats. One’s design is to transport a balanced soul into the afterlife, and the other is to sustain the body in life, a means of transport for a trip through time into a world of unimaginable outcomes.

It’s the most exquisite vessel I have ever seen, and I stood there admiring its craftsmanship before I continued my assault. As the sun rises and illuminates the boat’s hint of golden design, depicting Osiris’s ascent from Hades, my wrath has reached its zenith.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Charles’ aide was fast asleep on the couch, television blaring. He slipped out the back door and walked not knowing where he was going. He watched the strangers pass and smile as if they knew him. Charles had been lonely, scared, and uncertain about where he belonged, so he walked and walked. It became dusk and he wasn’t sure of his surroundings and stared confused.

Charles stared blankly at the lady.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Hamlet wanders the halls of the castle, a man who isn’t sure what to do, what he believes. Ghosts, are they real? Should he tell his mother what he knows, or is it what he thinks? Was she in on it? She had to be, or not, the possibilities all dangerous, like plague in winter, like bad advice, like poison. Why is he wandering around the castle like it’s act two? It’s so dreary cold and kind of dark, isn’t it? Who to trust, who to tell, what to remember? Oh yes, to never a borrower nor a lender be.

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Walking down the street, he stops and listens. There’s so much going on around him that he has trouble making out any specific sound on its own. The cacophony of everything around him is almost deafening. People are talking on the phone. Cars are racing down the street, honking. There’s a poor musician playing for tips. He can’t stand any of it. The sound of people shuffling around him is the worst of it, he thinks. All his life, the only thing he’s wanted was silence. He hears a whistle, then a boom, and then after that he hears nothing.

From Guest Contributor Chris Ellsworth

All I had to do was suggest we are not alone. Victims and assailants kept dividing anyway, splitting like atoms, disappearing until there was nobody left on earth; so, when the tricksters from all over the galaxy turned off the stars, it was God who wondered where everybody went. The head behind the hands had never been afraid of the dark. If other fingers pulled the hands away from the face, the eyes, having rubbed off onto the palms, could only watch the skull nestle between them as they covered mouth and ears. I’ve seen enough anyway, he might say.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell

Cheryl’s new series is called Intricate Things in their Fringed Peripheries.

It was an overcast humid morning and the church bells mingled with the foghorn. It was warm. Uncharacteristically so. This was his usual return time from fishing and his favorite time of day to be at sea. He skillfully edged his lobster boat along the dock, then stepped onto it holding the bow line. A practiced hand tied the cleat knot efficiently. He went up the gangway empty handed, unusual for him. The ocean had always been good to him and never gave up their secrets. He needed it to continue. His cheap wife will never cheat on him again.

From Guest Contributor N.T. 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.

There’s not an easy way to explain war on the battlefield. Only the soldiers who lived it can do so. It’s been years and I remember it as yesterday. The horrifying sound of gun fire and large tanks coming straight for us still terrify me, and I relive it each night in my sleep.

Even at the cost of my left leg.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

A nest formed at some point over thousands of years as eggs drift into the sea, carried by currents and tides. Birds with broken feet but wings spread wide, fleeing in flight from dying hearts filled with the blackness of obsidian inhabitants and their unforgiven. They mutate and break down within the lethal darkness from which it grows, blinded by ignorance.

Mothers must be on their guard in the warm calm of dawn, similar to the nights when they sense the fragile awakening of what is. And sometimes they forget the one thing they should never forget: everything is hungry.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Solomon’s statement. Everything under the sun has been done. I did not believe it to the extent I do now. Meaning? Future, present and past all happen at the same time if the latest quantum hypothesis is real. Meaning? If you spin a reality fast enough with distance enough, it can live, die several times while the reality that spun that reality up. Well, they watch it to see the good, the bad, and the ugly of those souls trapped in their paradise turned into a hell. Say what? Earth is paradise until those in it turn it to hell.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

I face the storm as hail pelts my already-weathered brow, reminding me of the life I once lived, traveling at a hundred miles an hour with my soul on fire. My eyes closed in anticipation of the impending crash.

The epitome of life and death, or a reminder of the most graceful and majestic journey?

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster