The fleshy carcass emerges from the oven with ill intent in its heart. What was once a peaceful, feeling, sentient creature is now sliced and glazed in a glass casserole dish. The gluttonous desire of the would-be cannibals turns to terror upon seeing the monster they have crafted. The violent nature of their death at the hands of their once victim will pale in comparison to the guilt that will weigh down their souls as they pass on to whatever eternity they might have waiting for them on the other side.

At least that’s how a vegan imagines it.

Every year at the vernal equinox, the entire population gathered for the annual Choral Rotundum. Arranged in a large circle, they sang the national anthem for 24 straight hours. The youngest babes held in mei-tais to the most geriatric unable to stand without the help of a cane or pole all attended.

Or perhaps they were aided by the knowledge that stepping out of line or lacking appropriate zeal was instantly punished by death.

Something in the manner the June sun slants through my bedroom window sears my heart.

My homecoming, ten years hence, brings deep summer sadness, which will remain within forever.

From Guest Contributor Chitra Gopalakrishnan

As I stood on the beach, I folded the letter, placed it in the bottle and closed the cover. I promised him that every year on the anniversary of his death I would write a letter and throw it into the ocean from his favorite spot. This was the first year.

I watched until the sun set over the water, and the bottle drifted out of sight, seagulls soaring above.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

I’d told everyone I knew what I was doing. A real pro. So when the sound system had a connection problem and no one could hear the introductory speaker, my heart dropped instantly. Not because of the mishap. I could talk my way out of a mishap.

At least the electric shock that killed me happened quickly enough I never felt a thing.

I know things look bad. I can explain the blood. I was playing with my dog and he scratched me pretty bad. He can be rough.

Very good. That just leaves the matter of the security camera. How do you explain that someone who looks remarkably like you was recorded beating your ex to death with a field hockey stick?

A brave man killed a monster. He became a hero and was celebrated. He married a princess and eventually became a king. He had many children. Then he died.

A thoughtful man spent his entire life trying to make sense of it all. Then he died.

Hank stared at his bloodied hands. Visions of a more peaceful time flashed through his mind, reminders of a life less troubled.

“I guess you’re not vegan anymore.”

We left our gear on the shore and braved the jungle. Verdant, mossy plants, swollen fruits, normal snakes and spiders. All expected. But that smell. Like sulfur. Why? As earth and rocks piled up it permeated everything. It coated our hair and settled into the weave of our clothes. Warnings went unheeded. When we summited, it was too late. The crag gave way to a cavernous cleft. It glared a stony glare. Then the ground shuttered. Then it trembled. In those final fleeing moments, choked in smoke, death raining down, we understood the island’s ancient name: The Great Giant’s Buttocks.

From Guest Contributor Nicholas De Marino

Since the death of my father, I made it a habit to walk in his favorite park every Saturday, something we always did together. Sometimes we had a catch, until one day his hand slipped, and the ball landed in the lake with a splash, and people chortled and pointed. That’s when I knew his Parkinson’s was getting worse. Soon after, he was unable to do the things he loved, gardening being one of his fondest.

It was the ball from our catch.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher