Danny watched Roberta carry an armful of her clothes and drive away. He watched until she was out of sight, then turned to look at the shoddy living room of his trailer and shrugged. He hadn’t hit her this time, just pushed her around a little. Maybe yelled and cursed her out.

Not that young or pretty anymore, he assured her no one else would have her and she was lucky he would. Three days was the longest she’d stayed away before. She’ll come back. Always did. Even so, something was different this time. She wasn’t crying when she left.

From Guest Contributor N.T. Franklin

NT Franklin has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, CafeLit, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, among others.

Todd had always put others before himself, which had brought a sense of well-being and worth when he was young.

Sunlight glinted off steak-knives.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

The brick walls of the house resembled a suburban castle, with all the promises of a happy life inside. Meticulously decorated, with ornaments on every wooden door, and treats always on the counter. To the naked eye it was nothing short of a dreamーbut no one knew the truth about that house and all who lived there. How it destroyed everything within, chewing up and spitting out any possible happiness, leaving everything and everyone broken. That house was barely a home, let alone a castle, where a piece of me, like so many others, was left behind…and died.

From Guest Contributor Kelsey Swancott

Kelsey is a graduate of St. John Fisher College, majoring in English, with a concentration in writing while also being an editor in the campus literary magazine Angles.She is furthering her education by attending SUNY Brockport for her master’s in English, specializing in creative writing. Following graduation, she is interested in working in the editing and publishing field.

I didn’t know you were dying until I saw what your grown daughter posted on Facebook under your name. For a minute, I wondered if I should “Like” the post as a way to convey my sympathy. Probably not, right? It was the sort of dilemma that once would have had you shaking your head in amused despair at me. Your daughter says that now you mostly just sleep. Where I am, some 1,900 miles from you, yellow daisy-like flowers that shut at night as though sleeping or even dead open at the touch of morning, bodies exploding from coffins.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of more than a dozen poetry collections, including most recently Gunmetal Sky (Thirty West Publishing).

The swarm arrived at the beginning of the week, their language that of war, and humanity the patient listeners.

After all this time, I had guessed the shape wrong.

From Guest Contributor S.R Malone

January 18, Jack told his wife Jan that she had gained a few pounds. Why couldn’t she be skinny like her younger sister Jean? February 10, he stayed out until after 2AM, came home drunk and drove the car into the garage. March 3, Jan found her sister in bed with Jack. The jury of twelve women ruled Jack’s death justifiable homicide on December 2. Five days later Jan married her brilliant lawyer, Frank Webster. When asked what he was doing, Frank said “Sure she’s a murderer, but look at that body. Anyway, now I know what not to do.”

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

The little old man has published four hundred or so things in the UK, USA, Canada, Iran, Germany, Australia, the Netherlands, India, and Spain without ever exhibiting any skill or ability. https://sites.google.com/site/aberrantword/

“Don’t tell your mother,” whispered Harold, sweeping up porcelain pieces as Jacob walked in.

Jacob turned his head the other way to smile.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada.

I live another life between raised garden rows, meditating on what worries me the most—feeling anxious about the seedlings that I’ve upended from their plug trays, pushing them head first into the palm of my hand, where I take a moment to study their good health, before I shove them into dirt that’s expansive as it is uncertain—a space where I imagine safety is being somewhere: tomatoes belong here—eggplants over there—and, in-between—bright, ruffled marigolds, guarding the future from an army of beetles, no bigger than poppy seeds, that seemingly ingest everything when no one’s looking.

From Guest Contributor M.J.Iuppa

M.J.’s fourth poetry collection is This Thirst (Kelsay Books, 2017). For the past 33 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.

Mona was known for her smile, but really, what was so great about it? Just a slice of smile, nothing big and welcoming. Not a smile with a future in it, more of a flirtatious glance than anything else.

Mary Lee had a big welcoming smile. It had greeted legions of men. It was a smile that had launched many ships, one that let men know that she was available and ready for marriage. Perhaps that had been part of her problem. Men wanted what they couldn’t have. They preferred having their hearts broken over settling down to someone real.

From Guest Contributor Eliza Mimski

The journey with Hercules was arduous. We sailed the ominous sea, and the storm destroyed our ship. Stranded, with few survivors, I searched for a lake to quench our thirst.

The ritual began again.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher