The Rose

That vibrant scarlet striking against the snow like a bell ringer striking a bell, reverberating through your body, taking up your entire being. She entices me with her beauty, but her thorns tell me not to touch. The wind sings and she dances with grace. Her perfume is like the smell of the green earth that reminds you you’re alive. I love her beauty, I love her fragrance, I love her grace. I would like to take her to my wife. If she could see this rose the way I see it, then she'd understand the way I see her.

From Guest Contributor Kyla Syner

Christmas

Ten-year-old Richie helped his mom decorate the Christmas tree with colorful red, green, and blue lights, and an array of ornaments. When he lit the tree, everything in the room illuminated.

His mom sank into the couch. “Maybe this year Christmas won’t be so lonely.”

Richie sulked, grabbed a chocolate chip cookie from the tray and nibbled on it to savor the taste, when the bell rang, and he ran to answer it.

His eyes widened when he saw who stood in front of him. His dad in his navy uniform.

The war had ended, and Christmas was whole again.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Unsolved

Jon Gilbert took his tools from the back of the company van, walked to Jocelyn Pierce’s front door, and started to ring the bell when he noticed that the door was ajar. He was perplexed, having been warned by his boss that Mrs. Pierce, who was robbed a few months before, was obsessed with home security. Not wanting to enter the Pierce house uninvited, Jon shouted “Arno Landscaping.” When there was no response, he stepped into Mrs. Pierce’s foyer. There he found her lifeless body, supine, unmoving eyes staring, not seeing, a faceless doll nailed to the ceiling above her.

From Guest Contributor Dave Harper

Dave, a recovering software developer, now finds himself addicted to writing fiction.