The king sits on his throne with a large and excruciating chest wound. The room is filled with blood and lifeless bodies, his men.

His Majesty will soon be replaced.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

I want to assure you we are all safe here. We have adequate resources to wait until all of the infected have died. With our fortifications and firepower there is no way any plague carriers can get in here. Furthermore, all of you have been chosen for your talent, intelligence, and genes for repopulating the country when the time is right. As long as you trust me as your King, we will prevail against all challenges. Questions? Yes, my good friend Geraldine Jackson. King, have you looked in a mirror lately? You have a red splotch on your right cheek.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

The king delighted in varying which crowns he wore. One day he’d wear a crown of gold; the next, a crown of silver or of iron, or even a crown eccentrically fashioned from barbed wire. When he wore the latter, he was always surprised when blood ran in rivulets into his eyes. The queen, meanwhile, hated anyone who might be thought more beautiful than she was. She frequently sent assassins throughout the land to eliminate all possible rivals. That sound isn’t thunder, people would say, but an assassin rapping on the door of a cottage until his knuckles are raw.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of The Death Row Shuffle, forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

What came to pass? Life in red, gushing red. There was blood in the soup, blood in the stew, blood on the hands of my husband. I thought about the plagues in Egypt, the Pharaoh who knew about miracles turned against him. I thought about science. That what flows, surely ebbs? While the old king’s blood ran blue.

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Linda Lowe’s poems and stories have appeared in Gone Lawn, Crack the Spine, What Rough Beast, New Verse News, Tiny Molecules and others.

The raven saw the crow perched on the church spire in the middle of town and demanded he make himself scarce.

“You’re a crow, no different than me. Just because one time a woman mistook you for a raven doesn’t mean you’re better than the rest of us.”

Every spring, King Tolliver traveled with his retinue to the ruins. None of the official historians had an explanation of what city once stood here, all of the stories offered contradicting explanations of the calamity that brought the civilization to decrepitude.

Tolliver’s son enjoyed scrambling over the rocks looking for cracked ceramics and the occasional colored glass. More importantly, the king shared the prince’s enthusiasm.

The tall caped figure dismounted the midnight horse and negotiated cracked paving to knock on nondescript door.

He raised the scythe.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

You timidly stepped inside the royal chambers, unnerved by the rumors of random beheadings and incoherent proclamations. Many people went for a sovereign audience and were never heard from again.

“Meow.”

Sir Hadder rested against the boulder. He needed time to catch his breath after hauling his heavy armor and weapons up the mountain. Unfortunately, the racket had warned the dragon of his arrival, and Hadder heard the beast emerging from its cave.

It made him wonder if marrying the princess was worth it. After all, she was now over 40 years old.

When the last known jaguar died in the San Jose Zoo, it was believed that people would be safe from now on. And for the next decade, not one mysterious case of kidnapping or decortication was reported anywhere in the region.

Not many humans survived the uprising. Those who did became slaves. Thus the rule of King Netzahualcoyotl had begun.