James had few true pleasures remaining in his life. Time, divorce, and the company had taken most everything. His doctor seemed intent on taking what remained.

Ignoring the stares from his friends, James smeared a large slab of butter onto his salad.

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.

“Everything under control?”

“Interesting combination with chicken,” one stated, sampling mine. “There’s brandy. Definitely chocolate. Cherries are divine. What’s your dessert sauce?”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction regardless of the season or location she finds herself in.

The snow covered the land, as it had all winter. He picked his way to the rocky shore and looked longingly to the foggy sea. His sea, his love. He knew it; she should have known it.

His mother always said that snow covers sins. It was true; a blanket of white hides everything. But the snow had started to recede from the shore this past week. Today’s snow-eating fog will make short work of the rest of the snow. His sins would no longer be covered; her shallow grave will be exposed. He should head out to his love.

From Guest Contributor NT 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.

Doctor Burke’s hands are steadfast as he performs the intricate surgery. The patient has lost blood and the bullet is lodged in his abdomen.

She asks how his first surgery went.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

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

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

The Fuhrer took everything. My husband, two sons, and our home that had been in the family for years. I’m all that’s left. The war is over, but who and what do I have to go back to. I lived through the filth and disease when everyone else was dying and there had been nothing I could do.

It’s tragic and my heart aches every-day, but I will continue to live, if not for myself then for my family.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

She currently resides on Long Island, New York with her husband Richard and dogs Lucy and Breanna.

They laugh their boisterous laughs, holding hands with Pride seated in the gaps between their knuckles. Butterflies overflow their love-struck hearts and they try their best not to erupt in a bashful fit of giggles. He looks at her like she is all the world’s treasures in one. And she looks at him like he’s everything her heart has ever yearned for.

Oh, how first love always ends in regret.

From Guest Contributor Mahathi Sathish