​Change of Heart
by Ken Poyner

The Yeti does not stalk.
It simply walks in,
Finds the sturdiest chair in the room,
And sits.

You eye him in ordered silence,
Your hands distantly occupy each other,
Your thoughts making no sudden moves:
The balance of you chilled into inaction.

No one knows what to do
During fantastic encounters such as this.
You think:  not even I knew
That was the sturdiest chair in the room.

* Norfolk (VA)-based Ken Poyner says "Of late, my SF poetry has been in Analog, Asimov’s, Star*Line, Abyss and Apex, and several other places, including mostly mainstream magazines/sites such as Menacing Hedge and The Adirondack Review". His most recent collection is Constant Animals, 42 unruly fictions available in paperback and ebook via www.kpoyner.com & www.amazon.com


Someone
by Carie Juettner

Someone left a cat whisker in my locker.
I once heard whiskers bring good luck,
but I wish it wasn’t the exact color 
of Snickers,
who ran away last week.

Someone left a flower petal in my locker.
At least I think it’s a flower petal--
it’s thin and pink and silky 
and smells a little like the potpourri
my big sister keeps in her underwear drawer.

Someone left a tooth in my locker,
which is weird because my little brother 
just lost his first tooth this weekend,
and the tooth fairy took it from underneath his pillow
but forgot to leave any money.

Someone left a picture of me in my locker.
I actually look really pretty in it
with the moonlight shining on my sleeping face,
but the angle suggests it was taken
from my closet.

Someone left a finger in my locker.
It’s wearing a ring that looks like my mom’s.
She left yesterday for a business trip.
And this morning when I thanked my dad 
for tucking me in last night, 
he said he didn’t know 
what I was talking about.

* Carie Juettner says "My poetry has been published in the Texas Poetry Calendar and the Texas Observer, among other places, and my horror short fiction has appeared in Hello Horror, Dark Moon Digest, Microhorror, and Growing Pains. I live in Austin, where I substitute teach, shelve library books, and write."


fantastic legend
by Herb Kauderer
 
three fourths of the people
in the office were not alive
during any moonwalk
 
they live on the super
computing benefits of what

is to them ancient history

* Herb Kauderer is an associate professor of English at Hilbert College. His tenth book of poetry – The Snowstorm of '14' (recently published by Written Image Press) – is the result of living at ground zero for two of the most epic snowstorms in the history of snowy Buffalo, NY.


Life with Larry
by John Grey

He's a handsome guy. she says.
Warm eyes. Kissable lips.
So what if he's a little crazy.
And he's gentle toward her.
She just has to make sure
she double-locks her door
whenever there's a full moon.
He's intelligent, worldly.
comfortably off.
It's not his fault he was
bitten by that hairy creature
on his last excursion
through eastern Europe.
He's just about perfect.
she concludes,
give or take the occasional
unseemly blood-lust.
One of these days.
wedding bells are sure to ring.
She can just seem them in
a house in the suburbs
with a white-picket fence
two cars, two kids.
and a dog.
Or two dogs.
depending on the time of month.

* John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, Perceptions and Sanskrit with work upcoming in South Carolina Review, Gargoyle, Owen Wister Review and Louisiana Literature.   

Three new pieces of micro fiction for you today from three separate writers – we start short, then get shorter and shorter...

​Tradition
by Lara Alonso Corona

Diving was in Mariana's blood stronger than blood. Saltier too. She was raised on both, blood and salt and it was hard for her to tell them apart sometimes, even from the taste of them. She dived for her livelihood and now she dived for her life, reaching deeper and deeper each time, as if her arms grew longer the more she pushed her way through the undertow. She was surprised to find that, upon touch, the golden scales of the beast were as soft as furr and as welcoming as a sunlit childhood memory and its eyes were the color of Mariana's mother's eyes, or what she remembers of them, having lost her to the sea so many years ago. Even under water the scales trembled in her hand, and Mariana realized the creature was trying to escape her grip, and not the other way around. Blood saltier than seawater and during storm days – when the color of waves is the same color as blood dissolving in them – the dark animals below the surface take care not to venture too close to the breakwater, because Mariana's nails are sharp like rocks on the reef and she can hold her breath underwater almost as long as the beasts and she's pitiless like the gods of old. Careful, gentle monster. Careful, for girls have scales too.


* Lara Alonso Corona was born in a small city in the north of Spain. She completed her Film and TV studies in Madrid before moving to London to study creative fiction. Her fiction has appeared online and in print in magazines including The Copperfield Review, Literary Orphans, Devilfish Review and Whiskey Island. You can follow her on Twitter at @lalonsocorona


The Gardens
by Andrew Kozma

The pine trees started it all with their beady little cones and prickly embrace. They littered the earth with their complaints, and when we didn’t listen, they brought us to court. The entire human race they brought to court, and for sideshow entertainment, they sued cows, goats, pigs, and chickens, too.

Pine trees have always been impetuous, but we weren’t worried. The courts would throw out the case. When has one kingdom ever successfully sued another?

But the courts didn’t throw out the case. Lawyers lined up to volunteer for the prosecution, well aware that this was the case of the era, the epoch, even the geologic age. And for witnesses, all the trees and grass and molds – even though they weren’t really plants– lined up on the witness stand to give vent to their feelings.

We didn’t even know they had feelings.

Of course, not every plant turned against us. We’d bred tulips to be docile and the bonsai trees were proud of their looks. We were surprised the Redwoods stood by our side, but relieved.  Imagine the courthouse we’d have had to build?

Not that it matters now. We lost. We’ve had to pay.

They’ve infested us with beetles. Given us Dutch Elm. Pruned us. Thinned our ranks with carefully controlled fires.

But the gardens. You wouldn’t believe how beautiful they are.


* Andrew Kozma lives in Houston, Texas, and his fiction has appeared or will appear in Drabblecast, Daily Science Fiction, Stupefying Stories and Albedo One.


Foresight
by Shannon Connor Winward

It was happening again. When she stopped to check her lipstick, the horde stared back: white-eyed, open-mouthed, bloody. Hungry.

Cassandra backed away. The horde pressed closer, bones and plaster cracking, shards of mirror falling to the floor. Cassandra shook one foot, then the other, ridding her black stiletto heels of broken glass.

Adam looked stunning in his new suit. The keys jingled in his hands. “You ready? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” The mirror was whole again, reflecting only Cassandra. “Just let me get my coat,” she murmured, forcing a smile. "And my katana. It's going to be brutal out there tonight.”


* Shannon Connor Winward lives in Delaware. Her writing has appeared in Pseudopod, Star*Line, Flash Fiction Online and Strange Horizons, among others. She is also a poetry editor for Devilfish Review.       
www.shannonconnorwinward.com