When I was twenty, I had a friend who worked as a bartender. I remember that he hated sports, but that he learned to talk sports in order to get through his nights behind the bar with some civility, and of course to earn tips. And that is how I get through my life, by acting like I give a shit about things that I could care less about, by going through the motions. It generally works pretty well for me. People think that I’m a nice guy. Some have even gone so far as to think that I’m happy.

From Guest Contributor Les Bohem

The crack begins in the center of the mirror, spreads out, and creates four distinct sections. Each one reflects a different period of his life: childhood, young adult, middle age, old age. He sees the past and the future all at once. Like the mirror, he is shattered, torn in different directions. He has regrets, sure, but he wouldn’t be where he is today without those regrets and where he is isn’t so bad. Still, what if he could do it all over again? He reaches out and falls into the mirror and finds himself back at the beginning again.

From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten

She looked at him constantly, with eyes full of stories, desires, and expectations.

She smiled and replied that it was the only piece of clothing that she didn’t have to take off to work.

From Guest Contributor Manmeet Chadha

I was once asked a question. In fact, it was the most important question in the history of the world.

Honestly, how’s a piece of shit like me supposed to know if everything happens for a reason?

From Guest Contributor Branko Tubic

First contact occurred in the year twenty twenty-two.

The two sides make small talk. There is great disappointment when earthlings learn the race of aliens is called Kill Humans.

From Guest Contributor Denny E. Marshall

Grace paced the kitchen while her six-year-old daughter, Sophia, watched curiously. Sophia had bright blue eyes like her father. When would the war end? Grace thought. It had been two months and she hadn’t heard a word from Charles. All she could do to occupy her time was read and take care of Sophia.

Grace collapsed to her knees and wept.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

We stopped by a lake. Saw the sky stratified in blues, greys, and white. Felt frosty air thicken.

Night approached with spirits of the past watching.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.

James and April had just moved to their new apartment. The walls were freshly painted and the appliances were new.

Later that night, the complex was engulfed by flames. James and April escaped.

From Guest Contributor Steve Colori

Tim read his sister’s winning entry through, comparing it with listed runners-up. He reflected on the superficial ditties with which building society advertisements were enamoured to the point of misidentification as poetry. Perhaps that ill-timed reflection jaded him, for he was not gentle with his critique of Martha’s literary infant.

Martha cashed the cheque anyway.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

Bobby carted the bin out by the hose and sighed.

No one would find this enjoyable, he cackled, no one.

From Guest Contributor Joseph S. Pete

Joseph is an Iraq War veteran, an award-winning journalist, an Indiana University graduate, a book reviewer, and a frequent guest on his local NPR affiliate. He was named the poet laureate of Chicago BaconFest 2016, a feat that Geoffrey Chaucer chump never accomplished. His work has appeared in Chicago Literati, Dogzplot, shufPoetry, The Roaring Muse, Fictitious, The Blue Collar Review, The Five-Two, Lumpen, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Pour Vida, Pulp Modern, Zero Dark Thirty and elsewhere. He once Googled the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. True story, believe it or not.