Bill stood overlooking the Hudson River, contemplating what reason he had for still living. He half expected an angel to appear, a wise guardian able to show him all the people who’d miss him were he no longer here. Instead, he found himself completely alone, a feeling that had grown so oppressive that any outcome would be preferable.

Bill did have a guardian angel. His name was Donald. He was scheduled to be at the bridge at exactly the moment he was most needed. Unfortunately, Donald did not believe in keeping a calendar. He preferred to wing it (pun intended).

Robert was late. This was especially infuriating to Cynthia because he had the ability to be anytime anywhere. If she were honest with herself this peculiarity was the reason she fell in love with him, but now she just found his anachronisms annoying.

He was sad when Cynthia broke up with him, so he went back and ensured she’d never been born.

The crows gather from miles around, blanketing the sky in a murderous patchwork of feathers and claws. The cacophony sends shivers in every direction, and the people wonder what calamity is portended. Something primeval is at work.

Lena watches from the balcony, wondering why the grownups are so frightened. Can’t they see the crows are simply giving voice to their sadness, just like Daddy does when he’s had too much to drink? Perhaps grown-ups run out of pity when they reach a certain age. They’ve learned their emotions are only worth sharing when you get something you want in return.

The ancient gods of the Nilmani people occupy a liminal position between myth and religion, no longer worshiped but still respected. Only the oldest living souls remember these forlorn mischief makers, who liked to plague even their most devout followers with typhoons or earthquakes or other inconvenient harrassments.

It won’t do to anger a forgotten deity with nothing left to lose.

Bill had a simple ethos. He believed in the constitution. He believed that the United States was created to combat tyranny, and that this country was the best example of democracy ever created. He believed that if you left people to their own devices, they would generally do the right thing, and come together to help each other, with a shared sense of right and wrong. He believed that a true American would not sit idle while his country was being dismantled by forces of evil.

Bill now realized that he and his radical views had no place in this America.

Pay attention to your other senses, the blind man said, words muffled by my failing ears. They’ll take over if you lose one. He laughed, and I pushed our shared plate of sushi towards him, because I knew his touch was in no way enhanced. I watched his lips then: I’m no superhero. In the silence, the sushi tasted the same, the salt of tamari, snap of wasabi. Still I’d hoped: I’d envisioned a saving grace, sniffing people out by their soap’s scent, the sweetness of body lotion. The blind man, wishing for another roll, groped around on the tablecloth.

From Guest Contributor Colleen Addison

They say time heals all wounds.

Those who have experienced true grief no longer take comfort in aphorisms.

Dr. Sheila Fabiana, PHD., surveyed the water with her binoculars, looking for signs of predation. Sharks patrolled these waters. Her current task was to record their feeding behavior and keep track of various data related to hunter and prey.

Sharks are literally incapable of pity or empathy. Ruthless by definition, but are they really?

People stared as my white wedding gown dragged along the pathway to the motel room, my head piece barely hanging on. I shut the door and removed the pins from my hair shaking the curls loose. That snake cheated on me with my best friend on our wedding day. I snuck to the house and packed a bag as soon as I saw them together. Now I’m in this dumpy motel, my wedding gown thrown on a chair that has cigarette burns, while staring blankly at the television.

They’ll find that out soon.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Few people actually like me, and one of them keeps mice in a fish tank. It’s my vocabulary. Gulls squawk. Sirens whoop. I use large words. It comes naturally to me. But others just think I’m full of myself, a showoff. My wife’s friend’s husband said he should’ve brought a dictionary along to dinner. He laughed as he said it, but everyone at the table knew. I felt I was back in high school. The adults were thugs in suits and dresses, and the girls covered their mouths when they giggled. There are tumors no mix of chemicals can shrink.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is a professor emeritus at SUNY New Paltz whose newest poetry books, The Dark and Akimbo, are available from Sacred Parasite, a Berlin-based publisher.