The peach tree in the yard was surrounded by fallen fruit, all of it shockingly well preserved, as if each one had been individually painted there. The house itself was in worse shape, with pealing paint, overgrown ivy, and several cracked window panes. No one lived there anymore but ghosts.

“Let’s go.” Henry drove away. Sarah stared at the old neighborhood and wondered why people take pleasure from nostalgia.

I carried my dog Dougie to the car, his whining echoing. I was too busy engrossed in the baseball game to notice his barking and I have no idea how long he was trapped in that wire fence while I cheered and gorged on chips.

I sat and waited.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

I have waited for this moment since childhood. Now as an adult in my car with the engine running, I’m thinking of excuses to put my foot to the accelerator.

Would it be my mother or father who’d I’d be meeting for the first time?

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

With her seat tilted back, she could only see the tree tops as they sped past. She squeezed his hand tightly, letting him know without words that she loved him, but also she hated it when he drove too fast. They could communicate a lot without words.

‘Go slower,’ she said.

First, there’s a moment when you are just crossing the threshold from complete oblivion, wrapped in blankets and darkness, to reemerge into the light of the living. You are not a person yet. You have no recollections or anxieties. This is probably what it was like right before you were born.

You stare at yourself in the mirror and promise you’re never going to drink again.

To be stuck in a simulator of the gateway project is weird, to say the least. How do I know I am not alive? I watch as people die and come back to life. Meaning? Bob Barker. I assure you he died several times. MeatLoaf in 2014 wrecked his car, killing him only for him to die again elsewhere. Maybe death is not what one would expect.

Maybe consciousness continues until it meets an ending in some sort of programmed book outcome. The book of Enoch might be truth. We all live until our own personalized ending of hell fire.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

I hung up the phone and ten minutes later the doorbell rang. I peeked through the blinds, and it was James. I’d told him I didn’t want to see him anymore and he was on the stoop, holding a bouquet of red roses.

I shut the lights, went upstairs, and made myself a hot bath. Soon after, I heard his car screech away.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

When I stepped out of the car, I took a deep breath and cleared my mind.

I opened the door and entered the office only to be told by the receptionist that the manager had an emergency and I’d have to come back another day.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Is everything packed?

Good idea.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

The fresh scent of flowers fills the air with sweetness. Diana takes a deep breath and relishes the moment, strolling through the park listening to the children play and the birds sing, the warm breeze against her face. She finds a bench, sits, puts her reading glasses on, and takes out her book. She takes a sip of water and begins reading, enthralled in the story, content with the sun on her face, when the cell phone rings.

Diana closes the novel, rushes to the car, and drives to the hospital to say goodbye to her father, her only family.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher