Man Asleep

Image provided by author.
Image provided by author.

By Johana

There once was a man who fell asleep on a snowy day.  His beloved watched him with dreaming eyes that saw the past him, awkward and admiring, and the future him who would hold her hand whether they were in far off land on adventure, or working together to pay bills for the mundanities of life.  These images came together in the sleeping form of the him who now held her hand as he slept in this tiny, cold apartment.

Shame

shame

editors pick

The boy is eight when his mother dies. Her death floods him with a grief he’s far too young to comprehend. He vows never to cry, lest he look weak.

Left to fester, his grief becomes shame—a shame that infects everything.

He feels unworthy, undeserving of love.

Later, his brain’s learned response to trauma of any kind will be shame.

In high school, he will do poorly in Algebra – Shame.

In college, he will self medicate – Shame.

One day he’ll lose his job – Shame.

Divorce – Shame.

He will point a finger always at himself, never at God.

Shame.

Kiyi

Photo by author.
Photo by author.

By Ray Sharp
He was stopped at the lift bridge, waiting for the ship to pass through, right foot on concrete, left foot cocked on the pedal, just before the crossing barrier, wondering if it was red stripes on white, or white on red, like zebras. Familiar cry of gulls on the morning breeze, his favorite sound, the language of flight.  They called to the blue boat named Kiyi, like the little deepwater chubs of Lake Superior. To swim or to fly, always a hard choice, but in the end it’s got to be fly. Up goes the arm, ding-ding-ding.

Daydream

woman-coffee-cup-mugBy Kazz

editors pickFor the next hour I am just me.

I sip coffee and watch the people.

A young man hooks my gaze. He is writing. You don’t often see that these days.

He is young but … attractive. I wonder if he would glance at me and see past the shell of motherhood. We would talk of art and of writing and of how it could never work. Then have a delicious affair.

He looks up. I quickly look away and think of groceries.

As I leave I catch the eyes of an elderly man. He averts his gaze. He looks uncomfortable.

Peter in the Park

It didn’t matter how fast I pedaled my bike, Peter kept up. His front tire nudged my rear tire like he was trying to make me fall. I was scared to look back. Terrified of what would happen.

My legs burned as we raced to the gate to exit the park. His shadow inched closer to mine. I pedaled harder. Faster. I wish he would give up on this game and chase someone else to the other side.

I crossed the gate first and struck up the nerve to turn – Peter vanished like the legend said he would.

Perspective Turns Everything Around

gun in mouthBy Summit Abrams

John took the gun and put it into his mouth, but couldn’t pull the trigger.

 He never thought it would happen, but it did. The cancer had taken over his heart.
All he wanted was to be with his son, share an ice-cream cone, or just tell him he loved him.
He remembered that death was coming and no one knew when. He couldn’t bear to watch his body grow thin, his eyes sink in, and his skin turn gray.
What would be left after he was gone?
“It’s okay, dad,” his son said. “It’s going to be okay.”