The Fortress Of A Man

“How much to bypass this process? Fabricate a report for the court?” Mr. Jacobs asked, frustration evident.

The therapist was dazed. “Pardon?”

“I’m a businessman. Need to get back to work..”

“Even if I accepted, what about your mental health?”

“Beating up that sassy bitch on the plane doesn’t make me mentally unstable.”

“Reacting quickly to provocation is something that should be managed.”

“Just name your price!”

She sighed heavily. “I’ll do it, but won’t take anything.”

He made for the door.

“Whatever belief hinders seeking help, I hope you unlearn it,” she called, urging him to think things over.

From Guest Contributor Seyi Adedayo

Seyi writes fiction and poetry. He writes because every now and again the urge to put pen to paper takes hold of him.

Gravity

You are not bound by gravity, my son.

Midnight, finger tapping my shoulder.

Fortress under my blankets. Helpless tears slip down his cheeks.

“They hate me, Momma,” he whispers, voice cracking. What can I say to that?

You are not bound by gravity, my son.

“Why am I so weird?” His question is broken, tentative. Saying it aloud makes it more real than it was before.

“Some people are just born different, baby.”

“Are you different, Momma?” What an innocent question.

“Yes,” I say, voice sticking. So I repeat myself. “Yes, I am.”

But we are not bound by gravity.

From Guest Contributor Tirzah Blazis

Tirzah is a high school senior who takes dual enrollment classes at Pikes Peak Community College.