I woke up early and went for a jog. As I followed the path through the park, I listened to nature. The sounds of the birds singing, and the squirrels running up trees were a sign of early spring. It was an unusually hot day in March, so the park benches were filled with people. I had water in my pouch and took a sip. It felt good going down into the pit of my stomach.

My first novel was accepted for publication.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The snow and wind pelted my face. The inclemency hadn’t started until I was half-way to the subway station, and people slipped across the pavement rushing to get home. Vehicles honked at pedestrians cutting in and out of lanes, so I had to be careful. I tried not to think about the numbing in my fingers after forgetting my gloves at home.

When the train arrived and I boarded, I knew it would be a matter of time before I’d be snug by the fireplace.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The music thrummed and the people spasmed to the beat. They called it dancing. Martinez, observing from the shadows, thought it looked more like a crazed ritual or a medical disorder.

Her bosses at the enforcement authority feared the dancing would spread beyond the nursing home, but Martinez was certain no sane individual in the year 2045 would find pleasure in such deviant behavior.

Innocent civilians taken hostage. Families plead for their loved ones’ safe return, helpless and fearing the worst outcome. All they can do is weep and wait.

These are the horrors of war.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

How will you tell people we met? she asks.

She shifts. Her shackles jingle. The guard clears his throat. The truth. I took first at the International Sasquatch Rodeo. You were runner-up.

From Guest Contributor Keith J. Powell

Keith is co-founder of Your Impossible Voice. Find more of his writing at www.keithjpowell.com.

It was the last inning in an adult softball playoff game. We were behind by two runs. I had gotten a walk, which filled the bases. The next batter could tie or win the game. The manager replaced two of us with pinch runners, which caused our second and third outs for batting out of order. Many people thought that I was a good runner. Pinch runners were supposed to be used for the injured. I had objected to being subbed out, and this time it ensured our loss. I didn’t say it out loud, but I quit softball then.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Every day there’s a funeral – actually, several. You peer into the open casket and immediately regret it. I have that kind of face. There has just always been something about me that provokes people to anger and upset. “Hitler should come back and gas you!” they would yell, as if the very idea of me threatened them. An unknown caller once even left a series of gunshots on my voicemail. Now I’m being lifted off the bier and swiftly carried down the aisle and out the door. A desolate rain is falling. I don’t remember a time when it wasn’t.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie’s newest book, Frowny Face, a synergistic mix of his prose poetry and handmade collages, is forthcoming from Redhawk Publications.

I was still in my twenties. A woman at the bar grabbed my arm and asked for my help. But I also would have rather done the tying than be the one tied up. Faraway in time, my doctor was phoning me with the results of the biopsy. I had what he called “an oddball cancer.” Of course, I did. What other kind would a poet have? The woman, her back now to me, was singing along with the jukebox about all the lonely people, a small, crumpled sound like foul dead flower water at the bottom of a vase.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie’s newest poetry collection, Heart-Shaped Hole, is available from Laughing Ronin Press. He co-edits the online journal UnLost, dedicated to found poetry.

Considering the current tensions, I implore you to prioritize diplomacy, de-escalation, and dialogue. By honoring these treaties and respecting international agreements, we can work towards sustainable peace.

For death via thermonuclear war is horrifying.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

The bomb exploded and debris collapsed all around. Covered in dust and choking from dryness, I ran to the alley. A sharp pain in my leg, I realized I had a large gash. I tore the sleeve of my shirt and wrapped my leg to stop the bleeding. With the gestapo in the area and people screaming, I stayed put.

The resistance would be pleased with my finding and hopefully the allies would be here soon.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher