Nadia rushes through the streets. Gunfire and bombs go off in the near distance and people are scrambling, and screaming, knocking into her while sweat drips down the nape of her neck. Her breath is shallow from the heat and clouds of black smoke fill the air. She uses her sleeve to cover her face from breathing in the toxic fumes, but she coughs heavily. She prays her husband is safe, but she hasn’t heard a word since he left to fight for their country.

A bomb explodes creating darkness and the bridge collapses beneath her.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The atmosphere had been charged all day so when the storm started neither of them was surprised. The husband settled in to read; the wife paced the room unsettled.

“Whatever you want,” he said, and returned to reading his book.

Melissa Ridley Elmes

Melissa is a Virginia native currently living in Missouri in an apartment that delightfully approximates a hobbit-hole. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in Reunion; The Dallas Review Online, Eye to the Telescope, Star*Line, Gyroscope, In Parentheses, and other print and web venues, and her first book of poetry, Arthurian Things: A Collection of Poems, was published by Dark Myth Publications in 2020. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram @MRidleyElmes

Sam’s touched up face, slicked brown hair and embalmed body, reminded me that he really was gone.

Now I must break the news of my Parkinson’s disease. But not today.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Positive and quarantined at home, my days edge along like a snail. Immersed in social media and Netflix, suddenly, I gasp for oxygen. Panting for a breath, I’m rushed to the hospital. Tethered to oxygen, I yearn to hug and cradle my child. I have to bake her birthday cake. I want to see her victorious smile when I lose at UNO. I must leave a lingering kiss on my husband’s lips. Flustered by my thoughts, I inhale into darkness.

Cool air blows as the blanket is snatched off me. “Mom, the Zoom password is incorrect.” I breathe in relief.

From Guest Contributor Hetal Shah

Hetal graduated with her Bachelor of Commerce from SIES. She lives in Mumbai with her husband, son, and daughter. She rekindled her hobby of writing over the past year. She is the winner of Mumbai Poetry League 2020, and her poem was published in an anthology by Poets of Mumbai called Guldastaa A Bouquet of Poems. She also writes flash fiction, and has been published twice on 101words.org. She loves to read, and especially enjoys reading and writing stories of romance and everyday life. Besides writing, she enjoys cooking new cuisines, traveling, and singing.

Philip, my husband, gently massages the knot in my shoulder. “Are you ready?”

With Philip smiling and watching from the sidewalk, I feel confident our voice will be heard.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The ozone scent of the ocean reminds me how much I have sacrificed to be here: friends, family, home, heritage.

I lose myself in the roaring of the waves: a world I can no longer enter.

From Guest Contributor Iqbal Hussain

Kneeling on the hard ground making textiles is an arduous task when the sun is beaming, but the heat is worse indoors. The brick wall of my home blocks the air flow and sweat trickles down my forehead.

My heart is full of love.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

After my death, one half of my soul rose to the heavens, and the other half slept underground. My blood seeped into the roots of weeds. When the village held a festival, my daughter cut the grass and wove my halved soul into a dog-shaped chugou. She placed me beneath my husband’s bed. After a while, my husband tossed about and moaned in sleep.

My daughter stood over him and flung down her hatchet. His blood dripped through the mattress and onto the floor. I chuckled as I learned who had murdered me while asleep.

From Guest Contributor Yuki Fuwa

Yuki Fuwa is a Japanese writer from Osaka. In 2020, she was named a finalist for the first Reiwa Novel Prize. In the same year, her short story was a finalist in the first Kaguya SF Contest. Translated by Toshiya Kamei, Yuki’s short fiction has appeared in New World Writing.

Olivia’s heart is broken since her husband Stan’s death. His cancer so brutal, she’d weep alone in the bathroom. Her spirits lift slightly when her son, his wife, and their daughter visit, but when they leave it’s difficult to be alone. One morning Olivia is awakened by stomping on the stairs. She regrets giving her son the spare key. The bedroom door bursts open and her granddaughter Molly is holding a white and brown spotted purring kitten. “Grandma, this is your new husband,” little Molly says. “Can you name him Stan like grandpa,” she asks. Some hearts can be mended.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Sarah awakened from a frightening dream, her nightgown pasted to her body in sweat. Her husband, Mark, was still asleep, so she gently lifted the covers, went to the bathroom, and splashed cool water on her face. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and remembered every detail.

Under the bed, rested a wilted lily.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher