We—who were left by the fire after the boss stood on the flame’s waving edge, wearing his black suit and immaculate boots, to tell the dragonfly and the crow that had bedeviled his every moment since the fire’s first spark that he had found a solution and would soon be free of their cruelty, that he, the boss, would soon pull off their wings and grind them into dust, and then turned, the boss, and ran into the flames—joined our hands before spreading blankets on scorched grass, opening bottles of cold beer, and sharing figs fatter than those in eternity.

From Guest Contributor John Riley

John is a former teacher who works in educational publishing. He has published fiction and poetry in Smokelong Quarterly, Mojave River Review, Ekphrastic Review, Connotation Press, Banyan Review, Better Than Starbucks, and many other journals and anthologies. EXOT Press will publish a book of his 100-word prose poems in 2022.

The town came to the zoo based on the promise of a special exhibit of animals captured with great difficulty. The audience was truly impressed.

Their trust was ill-advised. The humans broke out of the cage and stomped the crowd into the ground. Three thousand Xanians died painfully.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

The ringing in Timothy’s ears from nearby bombs gives way to headaches and fear. Doctors are scrambling while patients are moaning and yelling for their mothers.

As the blinding brightness approaches the vehicle, and soldiers scream, he tastes Amanda’s strawberry kiss one last time.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

She lays on the table like a forgotten doll, eyes closed. The final procedure is complete.

“My laboratory. This is where I make cyborgs.”

From Guest Contributor Eric Petersen

There was silence in the universe. Words were nowhere to be found, as if all existence had stopped and all that was left was a void of utter disbelief and confusion. How can there be something, and yet it means nothing?

“A soul.”

From Guest Contributor Aida Bode

We step into the past, warm and bright, light up a Lucky and slip into the booth by the window with its posh leather seats, its black and white glossies on the walls: Sinatra, Sammy, Bogey and Bacall. We say, Let’s have the T-bone rare, please, the baked potato, loaded, and that wonderful Caesar salad tossed tableside. While outside, mayhem on the march. Throngs chanting, flags unfurled in a cold rain, and darkness soon to settle in. While we sit, sipping Manhattans, cozy in our denial, where dinner will soon be served, and there’s Sinatra piped in, singing “My Way.”

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Linda’s stories and poems have appeared in Beatnik Cowboy, BOMBFIRE, Misfit Magazine, Outlook Springs, and others.

As a boy, I remember my dad telling me Christmas is about family and spending time together. Secondary, exchanging gifts.

The birth of Jesus Christ is the reason we celebrate the holiday.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

We take the caddy everywhere; it is a modern Grand Tour.

And we turn green.

From Guest Contributor Hugh Cartwright

It was the end of the American Century, and as if at a secret signal, the streets suddenly filled up with dancing grannies. I looked in their doll-like painted faces for an explanation. What I saw instead were suicide nets, abortions by wire coat hanger, piles of broken bricks. Life in our little town was becoming more and more like life elsewhere – a movie trailer for the Apocalypse. I would shake my head in an attempt to get rid of the eerie images, but every morning children would once again be walking past the slaughterhouse on their way to school.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of Failed Haiku, a poetry collection that is the co-winner of the 2021 Grey Book Press Chapbook Contest and scheduled for publication in summer 2022.

“Men line up for me gingerly,” I told my friend.

“Absolutely. I can deliver my gingerbread men to you, or you can pick them up at my place.”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes, poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction.