All I Ever Wanted

All I ever wanted was a small measure of happiness to call my own.

I'm not greedy. I'm only asking for my fair share.

Of course, what's fair for one person may not be fair for someone else. The best among us deserve more than the worst. My share should count for more than the bloodsuckers and sociopaths who do nothing but take. I'm a hard worker, so I've earned more than all the lazy people looking for a handout.

If my happiness comes at the expense of all the good-for-nothings in the world, they have only themselves to blame.

Where's Frank?

It was 2:30. AL'S BAR opened at 3:00. Al, sitting by the counter, squinted at the door.

“Is that you, Edna? We're closed.”

The place was poorly lit.

“I know. I just wondered if Frank was here last night. He found some money I hid. I figured he must have gone out drinking.”

“Maybe he went to the track?”

“Nah, not enough money.”

“I didn't see him. Did you try THE TOP HAT or LEO'S LOUNGE?”

“No.”

“How about TED'S PLACE.”

“No way, Al. It wasn't much money, and you know Frank. He only goes to crummy places like this...”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Run Run Run

Last one home is a rotten egg.

Run.

Coach says if I make top two in the state I'll get a scholarship offer from every school in the country.

Run.

We saw red and blue lights flashing from the front yard at Kristi Fields' graduation party.

Run.

Becca asked if we were boyfriend and girlfriend now that we'd done it.

Run.

Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?

Run.

A knock on the door. Blood all over the floor, all over my hands, all over the knife. No one will believe the truth.

Run. Run. Run.

Confidentiality

Busy medical clinic. Patient-chart filing cabinet stuffed. More charts waiting to be shelved, by me. Where to?

It’s the Computer Age. The weight of paper is seriously impacting office health.

I walk by my desk, accidentally knocking down the records I’m to file.

Uncle Frederic is a patient here. He hasn’t told me why.

Footsteps?

Have to gather the wayward folders and pile them neatly onto the desk. The night patrol nods, passing by my opened doorway.

Tomorrow’s a new workday. Perhaps I can linger again after office hours and find out why uncle visits this clinic once a week.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Guardian Angel

Hank takes his job seriously. He clocks in every day on time, and stays exactly how long is required of him. So what if he never volunteers for overtime? There are plenty of colleagues eager to cover for him.

Hank never drinks to excess while on duty. Sure he may get a little tipsy on occasion, but not to the detriment of his charges, who remain his top priority. If anything, drinking in moderation calms his nerves and makes him more effective at angeling.

Yes, he sometimes parties with some friendly devils, but he's trying to convince them to repent.

Bird With A Broken Wing

One day a bird with a broken wing showed up on the back porch of the old man’s house. He tried nursing the bird back to health. He bought birdseed and he put out water. He took the bird to the vet, and the vet told him there really wasn’t anything they could do for the bird; the wing would never heal enough for the bird to fly again. The man took the bird back home, but the vet was right. One day the man looked out at the porch and saw a single feather, but the bird was gone.

From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten

Grief

They say time heals all wounds.

Sadly, I now recognize the triteness of this aphorism.

First of all, deadly wounds never get the opportunity. Particularly severe ones can be permanently debilitating. Even if you learn to live with them, you're forever impaired.

People who've lived through the most traumatic wounds might have something insightful to say about the nature of time and it's ability to heal. Learning to forget is not the same as healing. It's just a coping mechanism that allows you to deal with acute pain.

Those who have experienced true grief no longer take comfort in aphorisms.

First Year

As I stood on the beach, I folded the letter, placed it in the bottle and closed the cover. I promised him that every year on the anniversary of his death I would write a letter and throw it into the ocean from his favorite spot. This was the first year.

A tear slid down my cheek as I listened to the waves splashing.

When I threw the bottle into the sea, it made a splash and bounced with the waves.

I watched until the sun set over the water, and the bottle drifted out of sight, seagulls soaring above.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Hoover Dam

It is a little known fact that Herbert Hoover was never really interested in becoming president. He actually started his career working as a mining engineer, traveling the world developing mines for various precious metals. At this time, politics was the furthest thing from his mind. His simple ambition, if you can call it simple, was to have a dam named after him, preferably the most famous dam in the Western Hemisphere. Becoming the President of the United States was just, in engineering language, the straightest line between two points.

Too bad Hoover's mostly remembered for causing the Great Depression.

Isolated

House manager Morgan came into my room. He sniffed the air and looked disapproving.

“Mrs Towne,” he began, “The Cobra Committee has issued an edict that there are to be no more visitors.”

I didn't mind. Old age had already picked off my friends and family like a sniper.

“And you cannot go out,” he added. “You'll just have to wait here until you die.”

He smiled to show it was a joke. Hilarious. I was truly isolated now. The other residents were deaf or dumb or their brain was out to lunch, or all three.

Then the telephone rang.

From Guest Contributor Derek McMillan

Derek is the writer of "Murder from Beyond the Grave" available on eBay.