As Harland dug through the ruins, he found a hidden and weathered desk. On it, an old postcard displayed a faded, scenic landscape. Flipping it over, he read delicate handwritten words:

Harland cherished the postcard as a symbol of inspiration and continued his exploration.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

A man lost his dog, but the cat lets him walk her. Connected by the dog’s old leash, they walk. The man explains the world as they go: this leash is our curve of pursuit, he says.

Never one to grovel for place, the cat assumes a posture identical to the man, and pulls ahead of him.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell

Cheryl’s new series is called Intricate Things in their Fringed Peripheries.

Sometimes I think I must have imagined that night. It was like one of those direct-to-video action movies with Bruce Willis or Nicolas Cage – blah blah, pow pow, and over in something under 90 minutes. We tugged at each other’s clothes, moaned each other’s names, rubbed, sucked, writhed. I was bleeding so severely afterward, my bottom lip split open, my eyebrow practically torn off, that I almost passed out. Instead, the world persisted in behaving recklessly, ringing the doorbell and then running off. I knew without knowing how I knew that all things were the same thing to the dark.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie’s newest poetry collection, Heart-Shape Hole, which also includes examples of his handmade collages, is available from Laughing Ronin Press.

The Egyptians used ocean-faring vessels during the height of their empire, and modern Peruvian fishermen still use similar reed boats. One’s design is to transport a balanced soul into the afterlife, and the other is to sustain the body in life, a means of transport for a trip through time into a world of unimaginable outcomes.

It’s the most exquisite vessel I have ever seen, and I stood there admiring its craftsmanship before I continued my assault. As the sun rises and illuminates the boat’s hint of golden design, depicting Osiris’s ascent from Hades, my wrath has reached its zenith.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

One night, the sky’s illumination changes and Harland sees the galaxy open up. The stars fade away as hundreds upon thousands of brand-new ones are born. The light reappears, and he watches as, one after another, the familiar stars disappear again. After a new dawn, the sky will shine with the beauty of new creation, as new forms of life will emerge, be nurtured, become powerful, and change the course of history.

Life is good.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Seventeen doctor visits to prove my mind was sound. In yet? I assured them that Abe Lincoln was a senator in my world. And? To me, the rapture had happened. Meaning? I was missing two billion people from a couple of days before. Did they believe me? I had photos to show them. They started feeding me pills to shut me up. What did the photos show? Deagel.com showed a population of 8.5 billion and? The current reality had 6.3 billion people. They said Photoshop. I laughed. Why? To realize one is dead when breathing is not what one expects.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

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

“Paul, Emily here.” Pleasant and composed as always. “I need a power of attorney for my mom, Agnes.”

All the time in the world.

From Guest Contributor Tony Covatta

Emmett had one wish, a quiet place to call his own.

It contains nothing except itself (nothing but pure consciousness), for this is space without form or substance, and it is a terrible sight to behold.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

They laugh their boisterous laughs, holding hands with Pride seated in the gaps between their knuckles. Butterflies overflow their love-struck hearts and they try their best not to erupt in a bashful fit of giggles. He looks at her like she is all the world’s treasures in one. And she looks at him like he’s everything her heart has ever yearned for.

Oh, how first love always ends in regret.

From Guest Contributor Mahathi Sathish

Little by little, she slept. The world had become rather too much. She began, in the night, when no one was watching, stealing away to where she couldn’t be found. Her great disappearing act. But before long, she’d be pulled back to the incessant waking wants, needs, demands. So she honed her skills. Cut social ties, snuck off earlier. Worked from home, held out longer. Staked claim to a full half of each day. And of what did she dream? Every night, the greatest dream of all. A world without work, without demands, where she could sleep as she pleased.

From Guest Contributor John Villan