Did it again! He never puts his grubby fingers on the older ones. No, just me and the few new arrivals. If I’m to be honest with myself – we’re less curvy than they. Maybe that’s it? Maybe he thinks we have less grounds for complaint?

“Excuse me, is this touchscreen supposed to be pink?”

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

“There are no Absolutes in intelligence — rather, there is collaborative education to share the flow of stock, (the durability, and woodiness of our external, noumena-phenomena: that is, the definiendum we “usually” perceive in itself, vs., the definiendum — or object in question for definition — perceivable by an outward projection of appearances) omni-interactions like a launchpad within our Activision concavity). Perhaps, the boundless spectra of profoundly vague, all possible worlds Finnegan’s Wake sempiternities “n-gon-like;” lopsided, (and sew) “imprecise” Syracusian-moona-aquifer impassible linearity akin to all of us — will thus, liberate ex-communicators in the dogmatic chapel of all intelligence testing.”

From Guest Contributor Tiana Lavrov

My stepfather had Parkinson’s disease. Before he died, he was one percent of the person he had been. It’s cruel to say that at fifty percent he was a kinder person.

Four years on, at his funeral my lie became true.

From Guest Contributor Alice Kibbe

Every second changes everything. Even in a padded room with nothing but white walls, a locked door, and himself, he knew this as truth.

His left toe twitched.

From Guest Contributor Patrick Winters

The road is not straight. It swines and curves. Like a path of destruction. No journey here I called. I couldn’t see ahead. Deviation, pain, loss, pricked at me. They said no left turn, back up, 6 months, maybe less. Who decides, hurray, take a right? No, down that alley, over there. A light, but you can’t escape. It creeps in deceptive, unimaginable, taking everything. There is no humility. It feeds off itself until the end. Then a rapture egresses, no more pain, no more exile from the human race. So many, yet one name. So common – cancer awaits.

From Guest Contributor Dana Sterner

Once the lawn chairs have been folded and stacked inside the shed, the plastic wrap stretched across rows of cheese glistening with sweat to be stuffed into the fridge and forgotten, the shrieking of grandchildren and boozy chatter of distant relations swept out the front door and down the driveway, and the candles—slabs of wax carved into a 7 and 5 and crusted with cake—tossed into the sink to be dealt with later, the man lifts legs snaked with purple veins onto the recliner and makes his annual wish: that he won’t be here this time next year.

From Guest Contributor Doug Koziol

Doug is the Fiction Editor for Redivider, a journal of new literature and art. His work has appeared in CounterPunch, Driftwood Press, and theEEEL.

Dear Mr. Pankhurst:

Elliot C. Balderdash

From Guest Contributor Amiel Rossin

Charlie’s Shih-Tzu Bucky ran across the lawn fetching his favorite blue ball. He chewed and pawed at it for a few minutes and then brought it back to Charlie to throw again. Charlie threw it farther this time and Bucky ran faster as the ball rolled across the grass almost hitting the maple tree. Again, Bucky played with it and brought it back to Charlie. This time Charlie didn’t throw the ball. He placed it on the ground to see what Bucky would do. Bucky looked up at Charlie, looked at the ball laying on the ground and walked away.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Gary’s gasping two-hand tap against the wall earned second place in the breaststroke. Pete had less time to breathe.

Later, Pete laid in the tall grass behind the aquatic center. Silver-voiced male cicadas polished their mating song in desperation, chanting for a miracle.

From Guest Contributor Embe Charpentier

Delays. Train late.

You tell me you forgot the chocolates.

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.