The rain pelted my windshield, and the wipers provided minimal vision. My heart pounded and my hands gripped the steering wheel. I drove at a slow pace and prayed the weather would calm down and hoped the next exit would be soon.

I glanced at the empty seat wishing she were still alive.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Walking to the back of the old house, Samuel noticed the changes since last time he’d been home. There were weeds growing up from the foundation. The chicken coop had probably been empty for more than a year. But none of the of the deterioration moved him. He had no nostalgia for this place. In truth, this was no longer his home.

Dad was truly gone.

Late one night in a foreign town, I walked past two men just inside a dark alley. The larger one had the other pushed up against a wall with a knife under his chin. The smaller man looked at me with pleading, terror-filled eyes. When the larger man jerked to follow his gaze, I hurried beyond them up the street. No one else was around to turn to for help. I had no cell phone and no idea where the nearest police station was. So I just continued on my way, hands trembling, head down: voiceless, derelict, abandoning all rectitude.

From Guest Contributor William Cass

The twilight sky blazed with attitude, warning everyone to speed indoors. The clouds hung ominously low on the horizon, pink, black, orange, and grey clashing together as darkness settled over the town. Rain, lightning, and even tornadoes were all possible tonight, like a sleep-deprived toddler on too much sugar.

Ben turned his collar up and sank his hands into his coat pockets, but otherwise meandered on, his attention entirely concentrated on the argument he was running away from. Rather than confront his wife with what he knew, or thought he knew anyway, he’d just keep walking towards the sun.

I can hardly wait. This is going to be a good one I know, another one with no faster than light speed travel. So primitive. Do you ever wonder why anyone would ever go to a smart planet? It would be just like being home in Karg. Boring. The guide to this blue and green planet says they fight and kill each other. Can you imagine something so stupid? We’d better put on armor under our earth disguise, so someone doesn’t kill us at random. We’re landing in a place called Portland Oregon where something called government impoverishes the locals.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Scattered pixels form your face, I forgot to delete a few, I still miss you sometimes. I miss you more and hear your voice, recorded, a missed call. If only, who knows when the last time will be the last time prior to, I should have kept my phone in my pocket. You always ask asked me to be more available, I always think thought we’d have another moment. To me you are were forever, forever is never forever. Not even these pixels, replicating your face, fading, scattered, fleeting. Afraid I’ll lose you again, broken charger, my phone is dying.

From Guest Contributor Mekah Baker

Mekah is a student of literature and the applied sciences at Pikes Peak State College.

There was a maple tree on the corner of Ryan’s yard as he was growing up. When he was seven, the city ordered it cut down because the branches were interfering with the electrical lines. Ryan cried a lot and convinced his mom to fight. It took many hours of sitting in on city council meetings and gathering signatures for a petition, but eventually the power company relented. The tree was saved.

Now the trees are the only things left standing in their old neighborhood. Once the plant revolution started, Ryan and his mom were spared, but the houses weren’t.

I looked for it everywhere I could think to look. Under chairs and beds. In the clutter on the kitchen counter. Behind cushions. No luck. I’ve lost my notebook or had it stolen. The notebook is nothing fancy, a simple assignment pad like the ones we used in school. But I might as well have lost my soul. The notebook contains notes for poems and explosions. I’ve been unable to proceed without it. Words won’t obey like they once did. I’m a mirror without glass, a rocket ship without blastoff, a donor heart without a box to put it in.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie’s latest poetry collection, True Crime, is scheduled to be published by Sacred Parasite in early 2026.

Ray slipped at the top of his building’s stoop and flew face first at the cement below. Time elongated as a supercut of his entire life played out like a scene on a museum urn.

That was really the only memory that came to mind. Ray was only four years old.