In his dreams, Rajan searches for the ghosts. He hunts for them, tracing their footsteps in the dirt. He is back in his hometown—he knows these roads. The moonlight shivers on his skin. The crooked streets rattle around him. His heart burns in his chest. Baba, mama. Where are you? He runs, following the path laid out for him. The streets smell like smoke. Everything is hazy and deserted, shuttered up and locked away. He knows his neighbors behind each door, but no one steps out to help him. They’re too scared. Rajan is terrified, too, but he keeps running. Please, if I could just see you one more time. I didn’t know it would be the last time. I would have said so much more. Baba, mama. When he looks up, the ghosts are…
“Dinner with Jim-J34719,” by Nicholas Schroeder
A small Italian restaurant in downtown Seattle, Earth—May 10, 2650. Peter: [enters and sits down at a table near the back of the restaurant] I’m supposed to meet a friend of mine here. Did you see someone come in right before me? Waiter: I believe it went to the restroom. Jim-J34719: [arrives] Pete! How are you? Peter: It’s been ages. I haven’t seen you since the last trade meeting. Jim-J34719: Yeah, that’s part of the reason I asked to meet. Peter: Interesting choice. Jim-J34719: Well I know you always loved Italian food. Peter: Jim, is everything okay? Jim-J34719: No, nothing serious—more of a moral crisis. Peter: Are you collecting that favor I owe you? Jim-J34719: No, I just need a friend: someone to talk to. Peter: Well you got it! It will be like our…
“A Look Back,” Poetry by Duane Anderson
A Look Back Look at the past, look at the present. My before and after pictures, one in my teens, head full of hair, one in my sixties, head full of nothing. Where were all the things learned from all the years in between, but time took hold and all was forgotten Look at one, full of potential, then look at the other, head turned around to see what happened. Estate Planning Offers It was confirmed I was getting older after receiving an email on an estate planning webinar addressed to the Class of 1975, and then sending it right during the coronavirus pandemic, to a group that I was a part of, the higher at-risk age group. Was it bad timing or a coincidence, but hoped their message…
“The Grudge Store,” by Richard David Bach
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“Thousand Faces,” Poetry by Gazala Khan
1. Thousand Faces Ten thousand we saw in a blink, It’s not daffodils moving along with zephyr, With the bounties showered in plains. This time, it’s the migrants. The migrants, Fighting two deadliest pandemics: COVID and hunger. The latter is familiar And former is in voices everywhere. The beads of sweat rubbed by red gumcha* never evaporated, The yearning to return home is discernible. One of them named Sakina walked a thousand kilometers for days So did many others. The kaccha house** awaited her arrival But the journey never culminated. Abandonment commenced, The invisible guest reigned Bleeding toes, sunburnt faces and many empty stomachs Fastened their way to homes. Beyond every pain, the rest of us numbed still moved on. And the second harrowing journey began. * Hindi word used in India to describe cotton towel for wiping sweat. ** A kind of…