The puzzle looked like confused confetti so I jumped right in to set things straight. No piece was totally benighted because each had a right side though some of them displayed their wrong sides up. I was grateful for those few that had edges.

With all pieces properly placed (except for those the dog ate) the puzzle displayed an image of white puzzle pieces scattered on a dark table waiting for someone to jump in and straighten them out.

And that’s all there is to this confused tale. I’m still wondering why I jumped into that mess of confetti.

Frank Hubeny has poetry published in Snakeskin and The Lyric. He regularly posts poetry, prose and photography to https://frankhubeny.blog

That detour Brian didn’t have to take took decades. When troubles knocked some sense into him, he lacked the sense to ride those blessings home. Sliding on curses he went where no one needed to go.

When Brian found his way home he told us, “If I knew how easy it would be to jump off that merry-go-round I’d have done it long ago.” Regretting the waste of life, he added, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

We were so glad to see him none of us saw any need to remind him just how often we had told him.

Frank Hubeny has poetry published in Snakeskin and The Lyric. He regularly posts poetry, prose and photography to https://frankhubeny.blog

The heretic hunters smirked as the paralyzed man was slowly lowered through the roof to the Master’s feet. Their ever simmering fluid of righteousness popped its cork when they heard the Master declare, “Your sins are forgiven.”

Some thought, “Just who does he think he is?” They argued that only the demon possessed would say stuff like that.

The Master waited for the heretic hunters to catch their breaths. The paralyzed man waited also since he couldn’t do much of anything until he first heard words, spoken with the proper authority, like, “Arise, pick up your bed, and walk.”

Frank Hubeny has poetry published in Snakeskin and The Lyric. He regularly posts poetry, prose and photography to https://frankhubeny.blog

Clyde knew enough theology to spot a heretic. He cursed them in capital letters. He exaggerated his words till they slipped through the nets of truth. He ridiculed without mercy. He wanted every heretic to feel just how hot hell would get.

During his massive heart attack Clyde heard a soft voice say, “What do you think you’ve been doing?” “I’ve been serving You, Lord,” he responded, but he realized, much too late, that he had been serving only himself.

No one expected Clyde to recover anymore than they anticipated the joy his revived words would bring when he did.

Frank Hubeny has poetry published in Snakeskin and The Lyric. He has published flash fiction in Whispers and Echoes. He regularly posts poetry, prose and photography to frankhubeny.blog.

Busy folk in the city paid no attention to the clouds splashing through the sky. The clouds got darker. They dropped thick, beautiful snow. The busy folk couldn’t get to work. The snow was so deep the snow plow driver didn’t see the sign to raise the plow in time. That made a mess.

People blamed the politicians who promised global warming. The politicians blamed the scientists. The scientists blamed Gaia. Since Gaia doesn’t exist, she couldn’t care less.

The clouds couldn’t care less either, because that’s not what clouds do. They splash through the sky dropping rain and snow.

Frank Hubeny has poetry published in Snakeskin and The Lyric. He has published flash fiction in Whispers and Echoes. He regularly posts poetry, prose and photography to frankhubeny.blog.

They sat outside our dorm singing the Moon Song. It was his favorite. Even she knew it. He sang, “Yadda yadda goo goo.” She followed, “Doodoo doodoo wah wah.”

This would go on and on.

I imagine them singing the Moon Song for decades even after a long, hard day of fighting and making up. When they grew too old to vocalize, I imagine them singing it to each other in their hearts.

Indeed, I hope so.

But we didn’t have air conditioning. My window was open. This was exam week. And that’s my lame excuse for shouting, “Shut up!”.

Frank Hubeny spends his time between Miami Beach and Northbrook, Illinois.  He has appeared in The Lyric, Snakeskin and Ancient Paths Literary Magazine.  He regularly posts poetry, short fiction and photography to https://frankhubeny.blog.

Diane dropped a biscuit. She glanced at Brian to see if he noticed. He did.

“Five second rule!”

“What if I waited ten seconds?”

“Ten second rule!”

“What if I found it a month later?”

“Blow off the dust rule!”

When Diane picked up the biscuit she found another reasonably good one down there she must have also dropped. She tossed it to Brian. He ate it.

“Brian, you didn’t blow off the dust.”

She wondered. Was that a smirk on his face? When Brian barked, she stopped teasing and tossed him the other biscuit. “Good boy.”

Frank Hubeny spends his time between Miami Beach and Northbrook, Illinois.  He has appeared in The Lyric, Snakeskin and Ancient Paths Literary Magazine.  He regularly posts poetry, short fiction and photography to https://frankhubeny.blog.

Selected by the editor as a featured submission, July 2022