The rejection stings. Dave stumbles down the sidewalk, absorbed in his own thoughts, oblivious to the people walking nearby or the rain pouring overhead. Motor memory guides him back to his apartment despite never making a decision to walk home. He’s too preoccupied with being left standing on the curb looking a fool. The others were probably still laughing.

If only he’d been a few seconds quicker, he could have boarded the bus before the door slammed in his face.

Spring is here. The annual renewal of the town means that colors abound, including in the faces of every passerby. People say hello to each other in a friendly manner that hasn’t been seen since the previous year. The smiles are contagious.

Business was much better during the plague. For once in living memory the townspeople actually welcomed his ministry instead of the doctor’s.

Stephanie walks from her apartment to the subway every morning on her way to work. During the summer, the sidewalks are crowded with fellow commuters and hawkers and a general hustle and bustle smelling of sweat and petrol.

It makes her wonder why so much of her life’s been given over to strangers and people she doesn’t care for.

The train came to a halt, and the platform filled with German police. They entered, and people quieted while my heart pounded.

A few more stops and I’ll be safe.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

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