The best way to describe the sensation was like a super vivid acid trip where all his thoughts were crystal clear and jumbled together at the same time. He’d never actually tried acid, being too afraid of losing his mind, but he imagined it was like this.

If that made him crazy, so be it.

I parked across the street and put the car in park. I had the radio low and gulped a beer, hoping a cop wouldn’t catch me in the act. Fortunately, no cars were in sight.

I knew then what I had to do.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Life is all about the timing.

Just as I was saying hello, he was saying goodbye.

Spring is wonderful in Michigan. The snow melt signals that the warm weather has arrived. Flowers begin to bloom. Birds and squirrels appear out of nowhere, ready to embrace the new growth all around.

The only problem: It’s January 12th.

When the great clock hands of Big Ben stretched upwards to midnight, Peter Pan sagged and leaned against them, resting his aching back. After years of flying, he had grown not old but weary. London was all skyscrapers now, smoke-plumes that he had to twist to avoid. Still, beneath the honks and hustle of the streets below, Peter imagined he could hear the calls of Tiger Lily, Tinkerbell. As he watched the dull skies, he pictured Neverland, the green of it, the harbours. Then through the smog he saw hands outstretched, a Lost Boy perhaps. Relief coursed, and Peter sighed.

From Guest Contributor Colleen Addison

Colleen lives, and writes on a small island off Vancouver, Canada. Her work has been published in River Teeth, Painted Pebble Lit Mag, and Crow & Crosskeys, among others. She is a recent winner of the 3rd Wednesday flash fiction contest.

With the contract for his eternal soul available for sale on the open market, Henry weighed his many options before settling upon the only religion he could find fully focused on the future as it really is, not some promised eternity we can never verify for ourselves.

Choose your building blocks with care.

The rain pelted the window as I typed the last few pages of my manuscript. It was past midnight, and I had been working for hours with a cold cup of coffee on my desk. My agent advised that it would be in my best interest to have it ready by tomorrow morning, my first novel.

I didn’t have a chance to hit save before the power outage.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Edmund Mortimer, crowned King Edmund III, is considered amongst certain scholars of the apocrypha to be the greatest monarch of England. His rule not only saw Great Britain and Ireland peacefully united, but also the annexation of Normandy and Brittany, who voluntarily joined the commonwealth out of regard for his magnanimity. His reign lasted 70 years, starting at age 9, and even as a boy he was renowned for his kind heart and wise decisions. His abdication ushered in the golden age of English democracy, which endured until wicked King Henry restored the monarchy in 1485.

Thus fate always wins.

I once skipped a stone 17 times across Lake Wawasee. It was one of those still days when the water is pure glass and you can see the clouds clearly reflected on the surface. We competed in hunting for the smoothest rocks all morning. I found one that was round and flat and just the right weight so I saved it until last. No one else got more than 11 and I was proclaimed the rock-skipping champion of Indiana.

I’ve never skipped a stone since. I’m satisfied knowing I once achieved a moment of perfection that can never be matched.