Writers M 2
Molly Quell
Michael Guinn
Merced Leal
Molly Quell is an award-winning Dutch-American journalist covering international law whose work has appeared in the Associated Press, The Economist, The Guardian, and others. Her creative work has previously appeared in Daily Science Fiction, The Thieving Magpie and Angel City Review.
Molly Quell
A Birthday Party
“My house turns 98 and so I am throwing it a party.”
The invitation went on, in a cursive script, to list the pertinent details: date, time and a request to RSVP by June 11th.
It was the 13th of June.
“Your sister is having another soirée,” Anne said. She was standing in front of the kitchen island, shuffling through the mail. Her black leather laptop bag stood on the quartz countertop, next to her coffee thermos and lunch bag.
The house smelled of onions and umami. Mark had loaded diced vegetables and browned cubes of beef into the slow cooker that morning and now he lifted the lid to give it a stir.
Anne set the invitation on the countertop and moved on to sorting through the rest of the envelopes.
Mark picked up the invitation. The texture was rough and the edges were uneven. Knowing Izzy, she’d made the paper herself. “Shall I RSVP for us?” Mark asked.
“I think we have the Stradler’s christening in the morning. Is the HOA meeting that afternoon?” his wife said. Anne had made quick work of the mail, now sorted into piles of junk for recycling and bills to be paid. “I wonder why 98? Odd choice for a party.”
“It probably has some significance, her star sign or something.” Mark took his iPhone out of his pocket. “Yeah we do. This thing,” he waved the invitation in his hand, “is later though and nothing Izzy does ever starts on time so it’s a good excuse to keep the HOA meeting short.”
“Thank god for small miracles. I’ll take care of a gift, I’ll order something from that crystal store she likes.”
Mark was busy texting his sister their confirmation. “I won’t offer to bring anything,” he said without looking up. “After the disaster last time.”
“Who knew a pasta salad could be so problematic?” Anna said, kicking her pumps off and carrying them up the stairs.
Izzy’s house had originally belonged to their grandparents. Grandmother had it painted white with navy trim when it was built in 1925. Now the neoclassical-style building was lavender with violet shutters and the walkway was lined with oddly misshapen ceramic gnomes and horses, Izzy’s art. She sold it sometimes at the farmer’s market or town festival.
Mark was thankful his grandparents had left the bulk of their estate to Izzy, tied up in a trust that took care of property taxes and house maintenance.
The party was already underway when they arrived. A squat woman with badly dyed dark hair and clear blue eyes had turned a small table on the porch into a tarot card reading station, complete with a sign indicating prices.
Anne and Mark found Izzy in the dining room, talking to two young people who seemed to be a couple, as they were holding hands. Their gender was not immediately clear. “Hello Izzy, so sorry we're late.”
“You are?” Izzy was wearing a white dress with a full skirt and a red and gold flower pattern. She smiled widely and gave Mark a hug. “Good to see you big brother. And Anne, glad you could make it.”
Izzy smelled like patchouli.
“Anne and Mark, these are my friends Barley and True. This is my brother Mark and his wife, Anne.”
Mark held out his hand. “Nice to meet you both.” The two were both thin, with short hair and angular features. They could have been related but Anne suspected incest was a taboo probably too far even for this crowd. Anne shook their hands as well. She had to switch the package from one hand to the other to do so.
“Barley and...Sue?” she asked.
“True,” the pair said at the same time, shaking Anne’s hand in turn.
“Lovely name,” Anne replied, smiling brightly.
“We picked you up a little something,” Mark said, taking the wrapped box from his wife. “Well, a little something for the house I mean.” The crystal store owner knew Izzy and picked out something she said she knew Izzy would love. Anne was mildly irritated with the price tag but chose not to make a fuss.
“Oh, how thoughtful,” Izzy took the package from Mark and shook it, closing her eyes and listening. “This has a good energy,” she said after a few seconds. She set it down on a table behind her where some other packages had accumulated.
“It’s just about knowing where to shop,” Anne answered, still managing a smile. “So Izzy, Mark and I were wondering. Why 98? Is that a special number?”
“Why not 98? Sometimes the universe just speaks out and tells you this is an important milestone and you should commemorate it.”
“Yes, I have that with 27,” Barley/True said, nodding.
After a long pause, Anne broke the silence, “Well, I’m parched. Would anyone like a drink?”
“There’s homemade kombucha in the kitchen and Barley bought some hemp water,” Izzy said, her mismatched earrings jingling as she turned her head.
“Homemade,” Barley, presumably, added.
“Excellent, sounds delicious,” Mark said. “I’ll join you.”
The kitchen was chaotic. The counters were covered in pots and pans. Some food had been laid out on a tray but it wasn’t clear if that was still a work in progress or already half consumed.
“Hemp water?” Mark asked.
“I’ll stick to tap water,” Anne said.
He found two glasses in a cabinet and filled them both from the faucet.
In the front room, they found Claire and David, looking equally out of place. “Oh, thank god,” Claire said as she stood up from her perch on a sofa next to her husband. David and Mark were cousins and both served on the Rotary board.
The women gave hugs and the men handshakes hello. “It’s an interesting crowd,” David said.
“It always is,” Claire answered, taking a sip of something that looked like white wine.
“Where’d you get that?” Anne asked, nodding at the glass.
“I brought it,” Claire lowered her voice and looked around, as though the couple sitting in the hammock hanging across the other side of the room might care about her stash of booze.
“The last time we were at one of Izzy’s things the only booze was homemade,” David added.
“One of her friends from art school makes it, I think,” Mark said.
“In the bathtub, probably,” Claire said.
“It’s not as though they are using it for its intended purpose,” Anne said, suppressing a smile. Claire giggled.
“Anne,” Mark’s tone had a slight edge.
“Does anyone know why she’s celebrating the 98th birthday of the house?” David asked, moving the conversation to safer ground.
“We asked her when we arrived but she only said she felt as though it was a good number for a party, ” Claire said, taking a substantial sip of her wine.
Anne wanted to say it was probably because Izzy’s horoscope was on page 98 of Crystal Monthly but thought better of it.
“That’s what she told us as well,” Mark said.
It was at that moment a witch turned up with a tray of food.
She was tall and heavyset with long, silver-streaked black hair. She was wearing a black long-sleeved dress and equal weights of black eyeliner and silver bangles.
“Would you like something to eat?” the woman offered, holding the tray out towards the foursome. It was the same tray from the kitchen but it was now full with tiny filled cups of lettuce, breads with spreads and vegetables. Anne took a single baby carrot.
The rest were either braver or hungrier and took some of the more substantial offerings. Mark popped a piece of bread topped with diced tomatoes in his mouth, whole, and reached for something else.
He chewed for a long, long time before swallowing.
“How was it?” the witch asked.
“Erhm, good,” Mark replied.
“I made the bread myself, gluten-free,” she smiled.
The prospect of food encouraged a small crowd to gather and the witch seemed overwhelmed by her popularity. After a few attempts to manage the masses, she discharged herself of her duties by setting the snack tray on the coffee table and telling everyone there was more in the kitchen. The cousins and their wives moved to the side so they wouldn’t impede.
The couple from the hammock detangled themselves and jostled into the fray, greeting a man who had helped himself to a lettuce cup.
After exchanging pleasantries, the lettuce cup man asked the hammock couple if Izzy had revealed to them why she’d chosen 98 years for the party.
Anne and Claire exchanged glances. They weren’t the only ones out of the loop and judging from the man’s braided beard and tie-dyed shirt, he was more of Izzy’s crowd.
“No idea,” the hammock man answered.
“Me either, but great party,” the hammock woman added.
Claire and David managed another half an hour, leaving Anne with the half-drunk bottle of white wine in her purse. She and Mark lasted a bit longer, in part because they could not extricate themselves from an in-depth tour of the herb and vegetable garden a friend of Izzy’s had planted at the back of the property.
“It was good to see you Izzy,” Anne told her sister-in-law, as she brushed cat hair off of her shirt. When Anne had gone to retrieve their bags, she found them relocated to the floor from the back of the chair where they’d been hung. A cat had taken advantage of the pile for a nap in the sun. Izzy didn’t have a cat.
“Yes, just wonderful to have you both here to celebrate,” Izzy said, hugging Mark.
“You’ll have to do it again next year,” Mark suggested.
“Or in two years, might be even better,” Anne added.
“Oh, I doubt it. Why would I?” Izzy waved her hand.
“The house’s centennial?” Anne asked.
“Does that matter? Seems like a meaningless distinction, don’t you think?” Izzy replied, her head tilted slightly, confused by the question.
Anne and Mark exchanged a glance.
“Well, we will see you soon regardless,” Mark said finally. And they left Izzy and the house behind them.
Michael Guinn is an American Poet, Actor, and Activist who has appeared on television, film and stage. More information at the end of this section, including booking information.
On my knees
Michael Guinn
I’ve decided that the next time i ask someone to marry me.
I’m getting down on both knees.
Because the last time. One knee wasn’t enough.
So this time I getting down on both knees because i know thats a position where God hears me speak the loudest.
This time while on both knees I’m praying that the God in her connects to the God in me.
Because i’m tired of running these streets, cold sheets, frozen meats. Tired of my words getting lost on the way to her page.
And even though God is the King of my spirit she will be the Queen of my soul. Ya see she will be the genesis in the book of me. And I just wanna go back and rewrite past chapters so that i can be her ever after.
And now that this wedding proposal is complete. Now that I’m ready to run into tomorrow with the love of my life. She well she’s going to have to help me up because i’ve got bad knees.
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Bastard
Michael Guinn
I was born a bastard. That’s what you told me mama
Dark moon of your nightmare.. half and half but not whole of a sum from a story retold over and over again from the center of my soul.
I was just 3 minutes removed from being torn from the uterus of then way back when the sun turned its back and shadows cried. And even though just a seed I could still feel you bleed from daddy’s dirty deed….BUT HE WAS THE BASTARD mama.. not me.
I remember swimming inside you as you lay near death … and when you were well enough to feel my movement …. your anger and resentment rumbled like thunder and I wondered how much longer I had to be before …YOU!… got rid of me.
And even though an unwanted fetus I knew who I was mama.
And no matter how many times you denied me and tried to hide me… I knew who I was.. YOUR SON!…. the un-chosen one.
And in the ovum of that moment… I felt you concede my existence..
no longer resisting the urge to murder the unborn metaphor and leave me lying in a pool of aborted promises.
And that …day… was the day I learned to escape danger by dodging coat hangers jabbing with the anger of the desperate stranger you’d become. That day ..I felt you scraping and screaming as you squatted to be free of me. And you almost did mama.
But I… hung on… And as blood ran thick and hot scalding the essence of your
innocence.. it left me clinging to your womb like a dangling participle clutching a poem yet written.
But I survived mama, I survived to prove that statistics are just bullshit and I am
nobody’s goddamn misfit .. and I can still hear you screaming… “BOY YOU AIN’T GON BE SHIT”!
But I am. And I will no longer be a pawn for foodstamps and income tax, cause I am more than that…….I am more. I am more than just sperm jettisoned from the tomb of my father’s already limp dick…I am fucking more than that….. I am more. Still…you said I was born a bastard.
So this poem is for all those years you beat me for looking like him…
And this line is the tie that binds me to the umbilical of those nights you made me feel like a weed without roots at the foot of an empty family tree…. cause there no one was there….just me. But I …am not like my father mama.
I am living proof that flowers can bloom from deceit
I am not like my father mama. Because 1% of you inside me is the reason why I believe. And we’ve…. come a long way from belt buckles and criticism……
And I just want you to know that the only love of I ever knew grew to create me….from you. So I’m gonna take all this power and all this rage and leave a part of soul on the national stage..for you. Because I am not a bastard .mama ……
I’m A POET! And one day my metaphors will open heaven’s doors and leave tear prints across the sky. And that day… that glorius, wonderful day….you and I…. will soar….. Love ya mama
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EVERYDAY
By Michael Guinn
If I could capture a rainbow.
I’d wrap you in my favorite colors and paint you perfect.
Because everyday, all I do is think of ways to do and say more than I did the day before.
To tell you just how much I miss you.
And right now. All I want to do .
All I ever want to do.
Is to take you Tuesdays, wake you Wednesdays.
Quench your Thursdays till Friday
then sit Saturdays sipping your
Sundays till Monday.
You see I want to love you daily.
I want you to get sprung in the Spring sizzle in the Summer
Feast on me falling, calling as you and I anticipate the Autumn, and get wild below the waist in Winter.
Because my love… is all the seasoning you’ll need.
I want you to go crazy as I slide off your Januarys
Pull down your Februarys, March right up in between your Aprils as your May becomes June and your July lays naked in the August of my September until you remember that October… was when my naughty
November eased inside your delicious December.
Listen… All I’m trying to say is …
I want to love you.... EVERYDAY!
Michael Guinn is an American Poet, Actor, Activist who has appeared on television, film and stage. His resume also includes award winning stage performances at the local, national and international level. He is a two time national poetry slam finalist, international spokenword champion who has transformed his life and his art in a way that has enabled him to coordinate several successful ongoing showcases, high profile open mics and workshops across the country. Currently you can see Mike on the Amazon Prime Series : Peter Season One. Mike is also lead actor in the upcoming film God’s Tired. Mr Guinn holds a masters degree in social work and is on the frontlines full time daily as a youth mental housing coach in Dallas Texas. Michael recently won the Irma P. Hall Black Theater Award for Featured Actor and is a voting member for Recording Academy and the for the NAACP Image Awards. Michael is considered one the country’s most electrifying event emcees and often lends his expertise as a high energy host/poet/speaker for special events and fundraisers. You can find out more about Mike’s 25 year career by visiting www.mikeguinn.biz or googling Michael Guinn. Mike is not perfect but his relentless drive to always be a professional whose on stage experience and off stage leadership makes him one the most reliable speakers in the country. 972-704-5001 for booking. Jordanmichaelg@yahoo.com
Merced Leal is a medical student with a passion for sci-fi.
Scouting Worlds
It is the year 25XX; humanity has long since expanded past the limits of their home in the solar system. Galactic travel is now a norm. In order fuel their expanse, governments established organizations to scout planets for valuable resources. It’s a potentially dangerous job, as scouts enter uncharted worlds, hoping for treasure.
Johnny Redding is one such scout. He travels across the galaxy on his prized ship, the Red Meteor, in search of worthwhile planets. “Prized” being Johnny’s own choice of words. The ship was an older model. It was fast but had little else going for it. Johnny had owned the ship since he first got his pilot’s license. It was his baby.
“Johnny, we’re getting close to the target planet now, how did you say you found out about this place?” A robotic voice questioned. Samuel, who was Johnny’s trusty robot companion, hovered just slightly off the ground as he entered the cockpit. Samuel was a cylindrical robot, about a foot tall and a foot wide, with a propulsion system to hover about and two expandable and retractable arms to manipulate the world around him.
“I overheard a guy talking to his buddy at the bar about it.” Johnny said, not breaking eye contact with the map screen in front of him. “Supposedly the guy crash-landed on the planet and was stuck there for a few days before he could get rescued, which means the air there’s gotta be breathable. That alone should make this planetary data worth a fat bounty.”
“And you’re sure no one has already claimed the planet yet?” Samuel questioned, peering around Johnny, trying to catch a glimpse of what he was looking at on the screen.
“Come on Sammy, I’m no amateur, of course I checked.” Johnny confirmed.
“Well, that’s good,” Samuel commented, “Maybe you can use the money to finally upgrade this ship.” He added. Samuel was now nearly diagonal as he continued trying to peer around Johnny. A slight bump of the ship pushed his propulsion system over the edge, causing him to tumble over. He regained his composure and looked up, only to see the map screen had been off the entire time. Johnny was using the dark screen as a mirror. “HEY!” Samuel exclaimed, “you aren’t even keeping an eye on the map, who cares how you look right now. We have work to do.”
“Samuel, Samuel, Samuel,” Johnny said as he shook his head in disappointment. “How many times must I tell you?” He asked as he ran his hands through his long hair. “How you look is always important. When exploring unknown planets, there’s always the possibility of encountering unknown alien babes!”
“That seems pretty unlikely,” Samuel pointed out. “Our initial scans from outside the planet’s orbit don’t point to any kind of non-natural structures. You’re lucky you even caught wind of a planet with a breathable atmosphere, since you broke your last space suit.”
“It was an act of fate, Sammy.” Johnny smirked. “You can’t keep a flowing mane like this cooped up in a space suit. Now strap in, we are about to latch on to the planet’s gravitational pull.” Johnny sat in his captain’s chair and grabbed hold of the ship’s controls. The machine purred in his grip, as he eased the nose of the ship onto a landing path.
Samuel wanted to comment on the absurdity of Johnny’s statements but knew better than to be loose on the ship during a landing. The ship’s own scanners hadn’t registered the proximity to the planet’s gravity yet, but Johnny always had a good intuition about that kind of thing. If nothing else, Samuel would acknowledge that Johnny was a fantastic pilot. He hovered over to his specially modified chair and deactivated his thrusters, mimicking a person sitting. Using his arms, he pulled up some straps from the sides of his seat and anchored himself down, just in time, as seconds later, the ship shook slightly as the gravity around it changed. The ship shook, though no more than expected for a ship like this entering an atmosphere. All in all, the landing went off without a hitch.
Though initial scans had demonstrated a safe atmosphere, Samuel ran one more just to be safe. Once safety was assured, the ramp out of the ship extended and the duo disembarked onto the unfamiliar world. Johnny had landed the ship on a flat, open plain of purple grass. They were flanked on one side by a lush-looking forest, and on the other by a very wide, flowing river. Samuel immediately got to work. It had been a while since they had landed on a proper planet, so he needed to take advantage of the sunlight. He quickly and efficiently set up a solar grid and hooked up all his uncharged spare battery packs to it. Once this was done, he began setting up the planetary scanner. A device that would launch aerial and subterranean drones to scan an area. They would fly around and set this scanner up in a few different regions of the world to gather information on the raw material makeup of the planet.
As Samuel completed these tasks, Johnny had set his sights on the nearby water source. With a hand scanner, a small portable version of what the drones used, he was able to determine that not only was the water safe to drink, but based on some trace artifacts and elements, it was likely that things were living in it. Johnny excitedly ran back to the ship and returned just as quickly to the water’s edge with a fishing rod and stool.
Johnny had been fishing for less than 15 minutes when Samuel hovered over to him. “Well, no thanks to you, I have completely set up our data collection drones.” Samuel remarked. He held up a small remote control. “All that’s left to do is actually launching the drones.” Samuel would have launched the drones himself if he could, but as the captain and only human on the ship, only Johnny had the necessary access.
“I don’t know if I like that tone, Samuel. Don’t make me shut you off.” Johnny threatened.
“You always threaten to shut me off whenever I make you do your job.” Samuel pressed. “I doubt you even know how to actually do it!”
“Pshh, I totally could if I wanted to, you know. Most people don’t even let their robots have personality modules. Makes ‘em too annoying.”
“I’m lucky you’re lonely enough to need a robot’s company then.” Samuel said snidely.
Johnny huffed, “I’ll activate the drones once I catch me some dinner.” Johnny was pretty keen on catching something to eat, otherwise he’d need to start digging into his stash of instant noodles, a delicacy he was saving for a more celebratory occasion. Samuel tried to argue, but Johnny’s defense was ironclad. If Samuel was allowed to set up his battery farm as soon as he arrived, then Johnny was allowed to catch dinner before getting to work. As far as Johnny was concerned, those two things were equal, given that they both needed them for survival. For emphasis, he snatched the remote from Samuel’s hand, and held it up, too high for the little robot, barely hovering a foot above the ground to reach.
To the duo’s surprise, as they bickered, a large alien, fish-like creature jumped out of the river and snatched the remote from Johnny’s hand before landing on the ground a few feet away. The remote’s strap was caught on the alien’s jaws as it flopped around for a moment. “Johnny, get that remote back, we need it to launch the drones!” Samuel exclaimed.
“No way, you grab it,” Johnny whined, “it looks slimy.” Neither would have a chance to grab the remote, as the alien sprouted four legs and took off. Johnny’s jaw dropped at the sight of the metamorphosis, and had Samuel had a jaw, his would have done the same. Their dumbfoundment provided the alien with the lead it needed to get away. By the time Johnny and Samuel began their chase, the alien was nearly long gone, having escaped into the woods.
Defeated and disappointed, the duo returned to the ship. “I can’t believe I missed out on my catch” Johnny complained “I hadn’t gotten a single bite either, it’ll be hours before I get another chance to catch something.”
Johnny’s whining wasn’t fruitless however, as it sparked a thought in Samuel. “Wait,” he conjured. “Did that alien even have eyes? It didn’t go after your bait; it went after our remote. Maybe it followed its electromagnetic signal!”
“Hmmm, that’s not a bad theory.” Johnny thought aloud. “And I know just how to test it”
Later, just outside the woods where the alien had vanished, Samuel hovered nervously. A heavy metal chain was attached to him, and its other end was anchored to the ground. Johnny stood nearby, ready to strike if needed. When Johnny gave the signal, Samuel begrudgedly began emitting an electromagnetic signal identical to the one from the remote. They needed to wait only a moment before the alien returned, the remote still dangling from its jaw, and hungry for something actually edible. It lunged toward Samuel, attempting to scoop him up. Samuel was able to hover out of the way in time to avoid getting chomped on, and instead the alien got a mouthful of chain before taking off running once again, just as planned. At first, the chain provided the necessary resistance to keep it trapped, but the ground was too soft, and the spike anchoring it down was ripped out of the ground. Johnny was barely able to grab hold of a segment of chain near him before the alien got too far once again.
Johnny did his best to stop the alien, but its four legs, whose origin still confused him, were surprisingly powerful. Johnny was dragged along, and when he finally regained his footing, had to maintain almost a sprint just to keep up. Johnny had to think fast; he knew he couldn’t keep this speed up for much longer, and he wasn’t sure if the same could be said for the alien.
He desperately looked around for a solution but could barely think. As he searched for options in the woods around him, Samuel's voice called out from ahead of him. “Johnny, we’re heading for a cliff, you need to do something fast!”
With little time left to think, Johnny took the metal stake that previously failed to keep the chain anchored and aimed it at an approaching tree. The impact made the stake dig deep into the tree, and although the tree was felled, its trunk was caught between another tree and a rock. This new anchor held, and it was established just in time, as the alien jumped off the cliff, intending to land in the ocean below. It was instead caught up in the chain and trapped.
Johnny rushed over to the edge of the cliff to see if Samuel was okay, though he would insist he was only checking for the remote, given that it was the key to his payday.
Samuel confirmed that both he and the remote were safe, and that the whiplash had been severe enough to finish off the alien fish once and for all.
“Hey alright,” Johnny celebrated. “My emergency noodles are safe.”
The sun set over the purple plain. A campfire flickered and shot up a trail of smoke as its flames licked at the flesh of the alien fish. The meat had been harvested and seasoned, drones were flying and digging, scanning the area’s minerals, and Samuel’s batteries had gotten enough sunlight to get fully charged. Johnny couldn’t help but smile at the good fortune he and Samuel had experienced, despite their initial struggle.
After a while, Johnny figured the meat was cooked enough to give it a try. To his absolute dismay, the meat was incredibly bland. Given that he and Samuel had at least 3 or 4 more sites around this planet to scan before they had enough data to sell, it seemed his noodle stash was not quite as safe as he had hoped.
(Space Travel | Satire | Attitude. "Scouting Worlds" A maverick explores the cosmos with his cyborg. By Merced Leal. Read the story and see the video)