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

I lived once upon a time on Sagittarius. That dream took me to Perseus, then to Orion, then to Orion’s arm, then to Orion Nebula, where we pick up this story. Death I travel the ways is scary. I awoke in the green realm right before entering the latest world.

To watch the end. Bye to Humanity. Why? In my mirror reality I did things and was once upon a time a person of influence. Doubt me? I doubt myself these days. I write to the same people with influence there here and nothing happens. All self bent on death.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Clinton is a blogger, disabled, expat, filmmaker, poet, and writer living in La Paz, Bolivia.

“I felt a lurch.”

“Maybe!”

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Linda’s stories and poems have appeared in BOMBFIRE, The New Verse News, Microfiction Monday, Six Sentences, and others.

He couldn’t believe how amazing it felt to be free of the anguish and suffering he’d endured for so long. He fled this hellhole!

He watched as they raced above him, sun in the lead with shadow in tow, heading to the far side of the world. Now motionless, the darkness grew until the sun vanished entirely.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

I met you at a time when the star of you was careening downward. Though in descent, due to illness, your radiance shone in your discussions of the band Rush, the literature of Chesterton, and your absolute love and skill at cooking. You were afraid of being an imposition, not realizing that giving me a chance to help you—during our fateful trip—was my chance to brush against your beauty, your deep, feeling heart. I am selfish; I want more. But I must wait, as your star has again swung into ascension, brightening this world even upon your exit.

For Tony Rome By Keith Hoerner

The explosions are closer, and my children are silent, staring wide-eyed out the window, watching people scrambling and screaming at the bombs up ahead. I would stay inside the comfort of my own home, but it is just as dangerous as the outside world. We have no choice; we must leave now.

I stay focused on what lies ahead.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Saunders S. Saunders liked his name and the way it confused people. He liked tantalizing the public, and even though his middle name was Samuel, he thought from time to time about changing Samuel legally to Saunders. Then he would have a totally unusual name. Somewhere, someplace there might be a Saunders Samuel Saunders, but he doubted that a Saunders Saunders Saunders existed anywhere else in the world, or possibly in the entire universe. There was only one problem: Saunders S. Saunders had no other claim to fame, and that, he thought, was a problem, a major, major, major problem.

From Guest Contributor Anita G. Gorman

The ruler of the rubble sits at the end of a table that reaches around the world. Who will live to see his reign unravel? The babies, who grow up somewhere else? Will they return middle aged, full of stories from their broken parents, and older brothers and sisters who went to school in their own country, saluted their own flag, played in the sea that belonged to everyone? Surely they will come, full of sadness and anger, looking for remnants of family left behind. Grownups, who pick up handfuls of rubble and say, this used to be my home.

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

“I’m still burning for Aliona!” Evan cried. “Not for long,” said the Lords before they locked two lovers together inside the intergalactic cryo chamber.

The last we heard, Evan was eaten alive during his deep hibernation sleep.

From Guest Contributor Ivan Ristic

Ivan is a Serbian short story writer, poet and composer of ambient music.

My world consisted of captivating sunshine, the kind that seeps into your skin and leaves your soul hopeful. Fresh mountain air, fresh rain on the pavement where my glory days still reign. The leaving hurt. The remnants of you mark my eyes with devastating longing. The sun went into hiding and the blue birds no longer flutter past my window. Leaving hurt. I no longer see the serenity of tomorrow in a golden haze, but dark. Destined for loneliness. The hope of loving you has become yet another long lost dream that the sandman refuses to leave at my door.

From Guest Contributor Courtney Alvarez

Courtney is a student at Pikes Peak Community College who loves writing, reading, and photography.