Moana sat beside me to tell me all about her day. She tells me of how receipts are paid, how invoices are filled; the tedious swirl of records she manages and the way liabilities must be listed.

I have a Master’s in Accounting, and yet somehow I could listen to her speak about it all all over again, and still fall hopelessly in love.

From Guest Contributor Mahathi Sathish

Amidst the barrenness of their surroundings, they found refuge in each other’s arms. Though the winds howled and rained down upon them, they held on tight, refusing to let go. Together, they weathered the storm, their love growing stronger with each passing moment. And as the skies cleared and the sun shone, they knew they had found something special—a love that could withstand anything. Their hearts began to beat as one, like two vines interwoven, awaking a long-forgotten garden. It was as if fate had brought them together—two lost souls searching for a way out of the darkness.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

The snow covered the land, as it had all winter. He picked his way to the rocky shore and looked longingly to the foggy sea. His sea, his love. He knew it; she should have known it.

His mother always said that snow covers sins. It was true; a blanket of white hides everything. But the snow had started to recede from the shore this past week. Today’s snow-eating fog will make short work of the rest of the snow. His sins would no longer be covered; her shallow grave will be exposed. He should head out to his love.

From Guest Contributor NT 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.

Vernon had a mighty fine vision of a better life. Though the East had been kind to him, his yearning for adventure in the Wild West was powerful.

Unbeknownst to Vernon was the expanse of Manitoba, sometimes called âpisînikan by the Cree, which means someone who rises from the dead. Soon, his easygoing lifestyle would be disturbed as hordes of undead settlers blocked his path.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Sometimes I think I must have imagined that night. It was like one of those direct-to-video action movies with Bruce Willis or Nicolas Cage – blah blah, pow pow, and over in something under 90 minutes. We tugged at each other’s clothes, moaned each other’s names, rubbed, sucked, writhed. I was bleeding so severely afterward, my bottom lip split open, my eyebrow practically torn off, that I almost passed out. Instead, the world persisted in behaving recklessly, ringing the doorbell and then running off. I knew without knowing how I knew that all things were the same thing to the dark.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie’s newest poetry collection, Heart-Shape Hole, which also includes examples of his handmade collages, is available from Laughing Ronin Press.

When you said, “I value your effort, not the result,” I believed you loved me; when you said, “Four students got full marks, why didn’t you?” I believed you tried to motivate me; when you said, “You are too stupid even to understand the simplest function,” I believed you were disappointed and didn’t see my pain; when I said, “I don’t want to study. I just want to lie in bed,” you said you wished the boy next door who aced all the subjects were your child, and Mum, how could I believe you loved me and not my grade?

From Guest Contributor Huina Zheng

Huina either coaches her students to write at work or write stories for fun after work.

I weave between trees, around my bike and up the stairs. The screen door slams in my wake. Through the kitchen, I run for my room. Behind me, my brother stretches out his Gumby-hand. He’s within inches of touching my skin. Inside, a tick is dying to suck my blood.

Years later, I’ll run on the beach. You’ll chase me with something in your hand. Perhaps a periwinkle plucked from a nearby dune. You’ll hand it to me and smile. Say you love me. I’ll take it, hold the flower to my nose, and wonder what it wants from me.

From Guest Contributor Sally Simon

Sally (ze/hir) lives in NY. When not writing, ze travels and stabs people with hir epee. Read more at www.sallysimonwriter.com.