The Quick

by G.J. Williams

Being lifeless, Cyrus strove to sound the exuberant note in all that he said, and, having little to say, loudly doubling the number of words required to say it. Was what little he had to say worth hearing? Sadly it was not. Was Cyrus aware of this? Sadly he was. Did he succumb to the knowledge? By the sounds of it he did not. Yet who knows the 3 a.m. of anyone’s soul. Cyrus surely clocked his. What there was of it. Life as lip-service was still life, still service. Did Cyrus believe this? Sadly, he did.

Accident

by John Szamosi

He runs over a dog and doesn’t even flinch. When I ask him if we should go back, he shakes his head. “No worries, mate, let the sleeping dog lie.”

Driving back an hour later we find a crowd at the site. It can’t be good. Getting closer we see the villagers butchering the dog and distributing the meat among themselves. I reflexively cover my eyes. No use, I can tell I’m going to be sick.

He puts his hand on my shoulder. “No worries, mate, it’s a man-eat-dog world here. We’ll be like that, too, just question of time.”

Busy Week

by Michael Barbato-Dunn

On Monday Alicia arrived to leave me, bringing her mother and two sisters for moral support. They sneered and helped her gather clothes.

On Tuesday her attorney contacted me and suggested I hire my own.

On Thursday Alicia returned, this time only with her mother. They hauled away more. She said papers would arrive by day’s end.

On Friday she called and said she was sorry it had come to this. “Can I keep the television?” I asked. It was a 4K smart TV that I’d grabbed last year in a Black Friday sale.

“Oh, Andrew. Just sign the papers.”

Disco 2000

by Mileva Anastasiadou

If you were a fruit, you’d be the sourest lemon, the way you shake my hand, like we didn’t once share our deepest secrets, and if you were a notebook, you’d be a diary, you only have to pat my back and I spit it all out, and if you were a party, you’d be a cozy gathering, you listen carefully, you nod in sympathy, and if you were a song, you’d be Disco 2000 but for a friendship lost, and if you were anything at all, you wouldn’t have left, not then, not now, you’d stay and hold me

The Shed

by Ruth J. Heflin

Thunder rumbled distantly.

From our window, we saw Dad enter the shed near the corral.

Excited to check on our rescued bunnies, Roberta and I slunk into the kitchen, peering into their box, warmed by the stove’s pilot light.

A clap of thunder startled us, made the bunnies squeak, so Roberta peeked into our parents’ bedroom to make certain Mom was still asleep.

She motioned me over, pointing.

Next to Mom was Dad, snoring.

Roberta dragged me to our bedroom. We knelt beside the window, staring into the night.

“That wasn’t Dad we saw, was it?” she whispered.