I’m at that point in my life where I need to wake up at least once in the middle of the night. Stumbling through the dark to the bathroom, the street lamp cast a shadow across the table, revealing a yellow envelope.

Dropping the note, I searched frantically throughout the house. Beverly had died exactly one year ago tonight.

Robert repeats his mantra as he tries to concentrate on nothing but his breathing.

This is not a paradise. This is not a paradise.

I met the man with the train face at a strawberry picking. Where you buy the basket, scatter into the field, pick as many as you like or as will fit. He moved in a straight line, boring ever farther ahead, picking with one hand, then the other, then engineering the basket forward along the ground. When I was beside him, I could feel his breath like steam; his eyes seemed to let out more light than they took in. Full basket, he passed it to his wife. Her face was a station. She handed him a new, empty basket.

From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner

“Imagine all of the possibilities!”

While the two women huddled together like old friends, David anxiously anticipated closing on the property, and then watching as the house completely disintegrated in front of his eyes.

As I listen to him lecture in the big hall surrounded by white boards full of equations, I know I can only swallow small sips from the fire hose of knowledge that flows from his mind and mouth, flooding the audience with his insight until it streams from their eyes, light filling the room and bouncing off the windows; and I must turn my mind from his most recent threat to divorce me to how it all started: a campus lawn, a daisy, the Quantum Uncertainty of petals on the subject of love─ he loves me, he loves me not.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell

Sunglasses don’t make the movie star, but any screen icon worthy of the name looks damn good in them. Rutherford Love knew this for a fact and was no exception.

“Mr. Love, can I get a selfie?”

What a disgusting way to look at someone. Like you can not, so you do not. So what are you DOING looking at me if you can not? I can see it not happening for you.

Your reality will not let it happen, so you don’t acknowledge
what is reflecting in your eyes
go back to what is yours
go back to what is in front of you
let me slide into the background
I am nothing
to you now
I am nothing
I am the crowd
this strange nothing breathing nothing
I am nothing
nothing
don’t smile
don’t
no

From Guest Contributor Nick LaSorella

The doctor looked at me through his eyeglasses that sat perfectly on the rim of his nose.

When I arrived home, I felt something in my pants pocket. I reached in and my eyes widened. It was the feather from my dream.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Amid labyrinthine alleys and neon-lit streets, a small cafe beckons. Inside, a lone figure cradles a lukewarm coffee, eyes weary yet searching. Across, a young couple laughs—a fleeting yet beautiful symphony of joy.

The coffee, bitter; the rain, demanding. He catches someone staring back—unspoken stories, quiet regrets. He reaches to comfort the other, feeling only glass. No one searches but himself.

From Guest Contributor Chinmayi Goyal

What kind of clouds do you like most, I asked, and he said definitely horsetail cirrus and then he said no cloud is like another and that’s when I told him what Judy said about zebras, that no two are the same; that each is as unique as a fingerprint and the young memorize their mother’s pattern to find them in the herd or running along the ancient migration where they hang out with wildebeests because zebras have keen eyes and wildebeests have keen noses and zebras eat long grass and wildebeests eat short. I like tall thunderheads, I said.

From Guest Contributor Jeanie Tomasko