Nothing was as he remembered. Not the walk, with the chipped and uneven flagstones, nor the dusty, desiccated garden, nor the house itself. The two decades had ravaged the property and Stephen immediately regretted its purchase.

The Packards had long since moved on to a much more modern estate. It seemed he was still trying to catch up in a race only he knew they were running.

The sweat is dripping down my neck. I chug water to quench my thirst,
but it doesn’t alleviate my heated body. Why did I promise my wife I’d
plant the basil seeds today? Why? Because I’m an idiot and she knows it.
If I have a heart attack, all she’ll care about is the garden.

Now I know better than to have an affair with another woman in our
house.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Officer Barrett aimed and fired his gun, hitting the man in the shoulder. The criminal dropped his weapon and screeched in pain.

Just another day on the job.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The warrior sharpened his sword every day by slicing individual strands of grass. He started in the front of his house and worked his way, patch by patch, blade by blade, towards the back. When he finished the last corner, the grass in front had grown long again. Without pausing, he would get to his feet and return to the starting point, ready to start over.

Such is the path to immortality.

They sit in the bottom of a shoebox in a dusty corner of an attic on an unremarkable street in a neighborhood that could be located almost anywhere. Love letters. Old, forgotten love letters. They were written over thirty years ago by two people who barely exist anymore, only one of whom lives in this particular house. He doesn’t remember they’re there, of course, and she, wherever she is, doesn’t remember writing them. She has moved on, married someone else, had kids, just like he did. But the letters remain, fading reminders of a forgotten passion neither one feels anymore.

From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten

He’d risen early this morning to plan the house his wife had dreamed of, but the hilltop’s stark beauty had rooted him to the spot.

He reflected on the nature of sirens.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

An elderly lady made an urgent call to the vet because her cat was off her food.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said through red cheeks. ‘That’s Dewdrop’s brother.’

From Guest Contributor Rick Haynes

Annie is missing. “Not in her room,” Mom said. “Can’t find her outdoor
shoes,” noted Dad. “Maybe she fell into a humongous puddle,” quipped
younger brother. Older brother was silent. Two guinea pigs madly
threaded wheels. Crows lined the backyard fence squawking at the
house. “Bet she’s at a friend’s,” said Dad. “Maybe a monster snatched
her,” younger brother grinned. “That’s enough young man,” asserted
Mom. “We need to think OUTSIDE the box,” Dad stated. “Maybe someone
put her INSIDE a box,” giggled younger brother. “Hush!” yelled Mom.
Older brother emerged: “Annie’s in my bedroom closet with an imaginary
friend.”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.

His boots sinking in the mud, Joseph pushed the mower across the lawn. Cecile admonished him for its futility, but with the water receding today, now was his opportunity. He’d always enjoyed doing yard work. There was the sense of accomplishment, but he also liked getting out of the house for a couple of hours.

It made him angry to think some people were blaming all this on global warming.

Marie stared in the mirror, her azure eyes gazed lovingly at slender curves. She shook her head wafting strands of dark hair about her waist. A grey tracksuit clung to her physique mounted above designer trainers.

At the summit she perceived a clear pond. Therein, beyond the sea creatures’ majesty and waves of seaweed, perfection shone back. Fixated, even when the tide came in.

From Guest Contributor Valkyrie Kerry Kelly