He was tempted by her cardinal blouson and red pout, by the slippy-strap escaping down her arm, showing she was a little disheveled. She was unadorned, but her fangs flickered gold in the glow of candles and broken mirrors. He imagined the impossible, undressing her in his world, how he would unravel in her beautiful feathers. But he knew her kind, how she could only take and not be taken. She would ravish him in a few ecstatic moments and leave his husk in a heap of satin sheets, while she licked the last drops of blood from her claws.

From Guest Contributor Lorette C. Luzajic

Lorette reads, writes, publishes, edits, and teaches small fictions. Her work has appeared in hundreds of journals and a dozen anthologies. She was selected for Best Small Fictions 2023. She has been nominated several times for Best Microfictions, Best of the Net, and the Pushcart Prize, and shortlisted for Bath Flash Fiction and The Lascaux Review flash prizes. Her collections of small fictions are The Rope Artist, The Neon Rosary, Pretty Time Machine and Winter in June. A collection of her work has also been translated into Urdu by Saad Ali. Lorette is the founding editor of The Ekphrastic Review, a journal of literature inspired by art. Lorette is also an award-winning mixed media artist, with collectors in more than 40 countries so far.

The Egyptians used ocean-faring vessels during the height of their empire, and modern Peruvian fishermen still use similar reed boats. One’s design is to transport a balanced soul into the afterlife, and the other is to sustain the body in life, a means of transport for a trip through time into a world of unimaginable outcomes.

It’s the most exquisite vessel I have ever seen, and I stood there admiring its craftsmanship before I continued my assault. As the sun rises and illuminates the boat’s hint of golden design, depicting Osiris’s ascent from Hades, my wrath has reached its zenith.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

The king delighted in varying which crowns he wore. One day he’d wear a crown of gold; the next, a crown of silver or of iron, or even a crown eccentrically fashioned from barbed wire. When he wore the latter, he was always surprised when blood ran in rivulets into his eyes. The queen, meanwhile, hated anyone who might be thought more beautiful than she was. She frequently sent assassins throughout the land to eliminate all possible rivals. That sound isn’t thunder, people would say, but an assassin rapping on the door of a cottage until his knuckles are raw.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of The Death Row Shuffle, forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.

HISTORICAL FICTION SUBMISSION:

There was never any gold.

From Guest Contributor Gary Linehan

It floated in a four-foot cube glass case with runes etched into the gold frame and tiger’s eye gems set into all eight corners.

“I’ll take it,” he said, smearing tears with the back of his hand.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

When the man entered the Golden Elixir, he was the only patron. The name was for both the establishment and the only drink it served.

The man immediately died.

Viking raiders would return from their numerous expeditions and invasions as conquering heroes and hope to receive a heroes’ welcome. Instead, they were generally greeted with indifference bordering on disdain.

The strongest Viking warriors in fact stayed home and forced their weaker counterparts to pay them tribute in food and gold.

After years of chasing storms all around the world, Will finally found his way to the end of a rainbow.

“You think I’d hide my gold here, at the shit end of the rainbow?” He hiccuped and fell asleep. Will cried.

When the bandit chief Harper Caine invaded the capital, he was met with the torrential might of the King’s Watch. After he quickly dispatched the watchmen, the King’s ministers unanimously called for negotiation.

It was many years before Harper Caine realized the King cared nothing for peaches.

The Institution stood at the top of the hill, perched over the city like a carrion bird. The city sagged below the Institution like heat-festered roadkill. The relationship between the two was a symbiotic one.

Ralph shrugged his shoulders and plodded back down to the city.

The Daily Theme from Figment for February 6, 2012

Set a scene inside an institution of some kind (a school, a hospital, a bank). Now take us to a room that only a few people normally have access to (a janitorial closet, the morgue, an executive suite). What happens when someone gets in who shouldn’t be there?