When they were at war, everything was easy. They could yell at each other, throw pillows and then sleep in different rooms, sulking and ignoring each other.

She liked to fit people into her world like puzzle pieces so she removed the note, lit a fire and watched it burn, unopened.

From Guest Contributor Will Simon

I couldn’t help but keep my hand on my stomach as the baby kicked inside. “Jace, you can’t tell Jeffrey the baby is yours. It would destroy him, our marriage.”

I knew from the tears in his eyes the baby was gone.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

If we hadn’t been watching them for years, pondering their moves, their moods, their governments; if we hadn’t probed several of their species, and winced when they inflamed their planet; if we hadn’t seen the hatred they exacted upon each other, and the disregard they displayed for the welfare of other life, we might have shown them patience, and considered their plea for refuge, when they landed their crude spaceship upon our soil. But we had seen too much, and knew all too well what they were capable of—and so we slew the humans as quickly as we could.

From Guest Contributor Wolfgang Wright

Wolfgang is the author of the comic novel Me and Gepe and the forthcoming science fiction novel Being. His short work has appeared in over forty literary magazines, including Dark Yonder, Oyster River Pages, and Paris Lit Up. He doesn’t tolerate gluten so well, quite enjoys watching British panel shows, and devotes a little time each day to contemplating the Tao. He lives in North Dakota.

When I met my biological father, Robert, I was surprised at the similarities. We had a small mole on the left side of our temple, and I was left-handed, as he was. But the similarities stopped there. He was a selfish man. He left with another woman before I was born, and my mom had to be mother and father. Fortunately, she met my stepdad, and he made us a family.

Rest in peace, dad.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

“Are you ready?” Tim asked.

“My house is gone,” Clara choked back tears. “Yours too, Tim?”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Alice had always known she was special. That knowledge had kept her strong before she could leave her toxic family, and supported her through subsequent poor relationship choices and lousy jobs.

She was seventy when the aliens arrived, bringing with them the secrets of a rejuvenation process that they promised would work for the great majority of Earthlings. She, however, was one of the unlucky few, doomed to a remaining lifetime of being condescended to by those who looked younger every day because they actually were. Being special, she belatedly realised, wasn’t always all it was cracked up to be.

From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar

All I must do is deliver the package. I am told he’ll use the code “flowers”.

I slip the paper in his jacket pocket.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

When Mother abandoned our family, I was ten and I was bereft. Why would she leave? Dad said Mother didn’t love me, like he did. But, Dad’s love was accompanied by belittlement and backhanded smacks. When Dad died in that crash, six years later, relief mixed with my self-pity.

I reunited with my boy at the funeral. He stood dumbfounded while I rushed to describe not feeling safe, fearing he’d turn “nasty” (like Rick), watching from afar, and all my regrets. I left when he started to look like Rick. I returned only when convinced he wasn’t becoming his father.

From Guest Contributor Bob Gielow

She first hit the big time in the musical Binary System. It was a righteous indignation among the bikers. “You’re right about the party- it’s awful,” Fly Wind said single-handedly. We were all looking at her in her akimbo position. Her shirt was on back to front.

She raised me as she was wrong. We played billiards a long time before I came in.

From Guest Contributor Jacob Kobina Ayiah Mensah

Jacob is the author of more than 19 poetry book publications, including Witness and a poetry collection in Spanish, agua y color, is forthcoming from Valparaiso Poetry Press. His individual pieces have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, including JMWW, Constellations, Trampoline, 1-70 Review, Beautiful Cadaver Project Pittsburgh, The Meadow, Beyond Words Literary Magazine, Rigorous, etc. He lives in the southern part of Ghana, in Spain, and the Turtle Mountains, North Dakota.

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