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

There is an island floating above a shattered and charred plane of earth. It’s a little black island, untouched by the sun, hovering above with an unsettling presence. It is awaiting something.

This pit is the only law. It will not be content until it has devoured everything in the world.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

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