Mira closes her eyes and concentrates.

The roof caves in, and a black convertible appears, surrounded by falling rubble. Mira gets in, puts the car in gear and speeds through the debris into sweet freedom.

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

Sounds become muffled. All she hears is an echo bouncing off the walls. For an infinitesimal moment her soul levitates, detaching from the present. She looks at the doctor’s face as words grow inaudible. A silent scream explodes from her lungs into an invisible body spasm. A voice in her head continues unrestrained: ‘She’ll be alone” but her mind allows her to compose herself as she kisses minuscule freckles on her daughter’s face. As chubby little fingers wipe off her tears, she peers into the eyes of Innocence, so intrinsic, untainted.

The headstone inscribes: ‘RIP Innocence. Your life starts anew.’

From Guest Contributor Andrea Damic

Amateur photographer and author of micro and flash fiction, Andrea Damic, born in Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina, lives in Sydney, Australia. Her words have been published or are forthcoming in 50-Word Stories, Friday Flash Fiction, Microfiction Monday Magazine, Paragraph Planet, 100 Word Project & TDDR with her art featuring or forthcoming in Rejection Letters, Door Is A Jar Magazine, and Fusion Art’s Exhibitions. One day she hopes to finish and publish her novel. You can find her on TW @DamicAndrea, Facebook or Instagram.

scowling, baldwin grabbed the welcome-to-9 birthday card from the tv compartment. birthdays? useless! he thought. aren’t birthdays for children whom god gave little time and had to celebrate their short lives. just like my twinnie.

—he’s my twin. he wanna live, too!

From Guest Contributor Elisha Oluyemi

‘Can you please complete your homework?’ the frustrated dad nagged his uninspired child, for three consecutive days, rather the Sony PlayStation grasped her attention.

‘Dear Mr. So and So, it saddens us to summon you to school like this,’ the Headmistress began to berate him, ‘your child has complained to us regarding her inability to complete her homework due to you occupying her time after school.

From Guest Contributor Imraan Ganie

Imraan is a seasoned technologist, father of 3, and a lyrical addict who writes short stories, poetry, and limericks in his spare time. His quirky take on life, inspired by his curiously unconventional life experiences lead to twists of humour and tales that are always entertaining. Imraan lives on the Southern Coast of KwaZulu Natal in South Africa. Imraan has two short stories published in 2021 in an anthology called Taxi through Mzansi featuring short stories by twenty of South Africa’s finest authors.

There is El Boncalo, Platero. It is too late now to turn around without insulting him.

Apparently.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

Wandering the multiverse. I find the concept of change the bi-word of everything. One day, the illusion spells the reality of a word one way. The next day, the reality spells it another. The definition of wisdom is to come to some understanding? Probably why I still have not mastered how to play the cord of C on a guitar.

If everything changes from one reality to the next. What is the purpose of study? Defining a reality for when the next moment you could be elsewhere seems the definition of absurdity. To waste time trying to understand. Try to succeed.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Quibble was lost in the reality of glass days. Each day was formed and spun and left to cool, and once it cooled, Quibble and the world lived it. Ended days stood around the world like satellites. While the focus of reality was each newly cooled day, the older days could be tapped for hints and clues and prophecies that could step forward into the design of the current day. An industry of gnomes sprang up, ready to point out which past days most likely would help in navigating this day. Quibble accepted their advice, held his tiny hammer hidden.

From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner

George staggered into the hallway searching for Cecilia. He didn’t have much time and he needed her to make haste.

His estate would go to Myra Ariello, the compassionate nurse who cared for him when no one else would.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

She currently resides on Long Island, New York with her husband Richard and dogs Lucy and Breanna.

Time passing. The events to come? A wild nightmare or biblical prophecy? They knew the time traveler to the committee as the long hauler. Why? He had gone to the very doorsteps of hell and back. What had he learned? Hell was not such a dangerous place up to a certain point. And then? Then everything was what I thought the hell of. The point of no return. All your dreams could happen at the cost of your soul or spirit?

How close had he gotten? Moments of two galaxies colliding within a blink of your eyes. To see the end.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle