NATURE SUBMISSION:

It was time for The Great Moose Walk. The moose knew it was their task to walk from northern Sweden to the somewhat more hospitable south. In recent years cameras had been placed on their route, and people all over the world watched the moose on television. Inevitably, the cameras affected the animals, who knew that humans wanted to be entertained. “Hey guys,” the head of Moosedom said, “Let’s show them a thing or two.” So they made odd gestures, smiled a lot, pranced and danced and generally showed off. Then the head of Moosedom yelled, “Hey, guys, watch this!”

From Guest Contributor Anita G. Gorman

NATURE SUBMISSION:

It is nighttime. Myriad dots of light litter the sky. We lie on our bed with our distinct commitments disinterested in rekindling a lost pulse. As a pack of wolves practice their choric song, my wife trembles, scratches her skin and flutters her limbs trying to repress an urge. She grinds her teeth as if she wants to sing like the baritone owls and soprano sparrows. I ask, “What’s wrong?” She doesn’t bother with an answer. Instead she escapes into the toilet. A high-pitched scream perks my ears. She returns with calm on her face and nuzzles into my neck.

From Guest Contributor Anindita Sarkar

Anindita is from India. She is a Research Scholar at Jadavpur University. Her works have recently appeared in Indolent Books, Ariel chart Magazine, and Flash Friday Fiction.

The sun was shining for once, and I was sitting out on the patio with a book, Clare Carlisle’s Philosopher of the Heart: The Restless Life of Soren Kierkegaard, open on my lap, while I stared off into the middle distance, trying to think of a specific skill my angry beautiful workaholic father had taught me growing up – how to change the oil in a car, for example, or restring a steel-string acoustic guitar, or make sourdough starter from scratch – and I couldn’t, I couldn’t think of one, unless, that is, you consider being a yellow bull’s eye a skill.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera: 99 100-word Prose Poems from Cajun Mutt Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.

NATURE SUBMISSION:

“Maybe you should consider to stop giving away free tomato plants, then.”

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

As he lay in his bunk, even the gentle swells of the sea could not calm his anxiety. He had worked so hard to get here. He had learned map reading, sailed along the coast of Africa, and Ireland. It had taken years to secure funding for this voyage. He would not allow himself to fail now.

Suddenly Columbus heard shouting and running above deck. His heart skipped a beat: “Land Ahoy!”

From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius

NATURE SUBMISSION:

As I sit with my feet up sipping a cold glass of water, I say a silent prayer that the pandemic ends, and we are free as the birds flying this earth.

From Guest Contributor Lisa Scuderi-Burkimsher

It was an old apartment. Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked at the window. He could see the blue sky and white clouds floating in it. He could see the birds flying high in the sky. There was silence in the room. His two deep blue eyes were filled with innocence and sadness. He was so young. So young to be this hurt. He sat there alone. He had never felt so lonely before. He turned his gaze to the door. It was still closed. His eyes moistened and a tear rolled down his face.

From Guest Contributor Sergio Nicolas

I’m already sitting in the grass, cross-legged, when you meet me after class. “I’m sorry,” I say as you sit. “I forgot your book.”

In the evening sun your white t-shirt turns golden.

From Guest Contributor Natalie Schriefer

Natalie received her MFA from Southern Connecticut State University. She works as a freelance writer and editor. Home base: www.natalieschriefer.com

NATURE SUBMISSION:

I watched as the minute breaking waves climbed the gentle slope of the beach, trying to get as far as possible. As the surf receded, complicated patterns formed in the tawny sand. The pendular movement repeated itself, together with the characteristic sound of the advancing and retreating water. But the smell of the shore at low tide, the taste of the salty spray, the feel of the breeze and the warmth of the early sun were missing. I tossed my mobile phone away and sighed – no video will ever replace the soothing experience of a simple walk by the sea.

From Guest Contributor Miguel Prazeres

Before going back to the backyard she checked on her husband and her two-month-old kid who were fast asleep. The bed was undone, the dishes were huddled up in the sink unwashed, the rugs were clumsily rolled up. She knew that the child would wake up in an hour exactly. Those midnight crying fits. Last Sunday the infant was inconsolably crying, craving for milk, while she was in the backyard. She wanted to feed him, but couldn’t. Her breasts were heavy with ghost milk. The newspaper on the table read, “Delhi woman electrocuted by wet electric pole in the backyard.”

From Guest Contributor Anindita Sarkar