Fingertips to Her Shoulders Like Wings in Her Sleep

She is a bird perched on this moment, holding tight to the splintering branch of the past even while the warm chinook of now swirls up from the canyon whispering promises to her flight feathers, visions of vistas that shudder up through the tunnels in her hollow bones. The hurricane of her hair twists in the wind as she stretches, inches closer to dreams of silence deeper than the abyss of midnight sheets. There is no cage that can hold her, no rope that can bind her, no dead story that can stand before her when she decides

to fly.

From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat

Rock Star, Jr.

Dad’s a rock star. You know the type. Wild hair. Leather pants. Naked-lady tattoos. He’s never around for any father-and-son stuff, always away on some sold-out stadium tour.

For my 12th birthday, he gave me one of his old Gibsons. He didn’t have time to show me any chords, so I taught myself. I’ve been practicing every day.

He’s coming home after six months on the road, and I can’t wait for him to hear all the amazing riffs I’ve learned.

Because even if he doesn’t think a son deserves his attention, he’s got to appreciate a fellow musician, right?

From Guest Contributor Lori Cramer

Scarf

A silky white scarf sits on Kate’s hope chest, a gift from her mother resurfacing memories; the laughter of family and friends filling the room, the sound of voices singing happy birthday, and the gifts. The most precious, the scarf. It had been handed down by her grandmother to her mother and now Kate.

On her sick bed, Kate’s mother, with little strength, placed the scarf around her daughter’s neck and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. She wiped away a tear rolling down Kate’s cheek.

As Kate places the scarf around her neck, she feels her touch.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Adrenaline

Bullets passed by my head in a blur, and I had only one chance to make a run for it.

I hid behind the bushes with soldiers’ lifeless bodies nearby, a sitting duck waiting to be devoured. I took deep breaths, counted to ten, then ran and shot in the air at anything that moved.

I had to make it back to my family. My wife’s sky-blue eyes, flowing brown hair and son’s quick wit pictured in my mind, gave me the adrenaline I needed.

Chaos ensued and men started shooting, but I kept going.

I made it. Then collapsed.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Affair

I parked across the street and put the car in park. I had the radio low and gulped a beer, hoping a cop wouldn’t catch me in the act. Fortunately, no cars were in sight.

Deep down I knew something was amiss, so when I found the texts on her phone, I wasn’t surprised. But my best buddy, that’s unforgivable on both sides.

Her car just pulled in. When she reached the porch, he came outside and smiled. They embraced, lips locked together, hands in each other’s hair, before shutting the door.

I knew then what I had to do.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Chloe

I loved the way Chloe licked her lips after an ice-cold drink, and when her long black hair blew in the breeze. When she tilted her face backward, she looked beautiful.

Chloe set up the picnic while I stood under the tree and watched. She was gorgeous in the way she shook the table cloth and neatly placed it on the grass.

The diamond ring was in my pocket, and I was set to propose on this bright warm, sunny day. She’d love it.

Chloe waved me over and I was ready. Then the unthinkable happened.

It thundered, then rained.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Who Am I?

When my parents told me the news that I was adopted, it didn’t shock me. I knew that I was different. I have black hair and deep brown eyes, and both my parents have hazel eyes and blond hair. I was told I took after my grandfather who died before my time. Conveniently, no one had pictures.

I decided to track my biological parents. Now we’re meeting for the first time at their home, and I have a lot of questions.

I stood outside pondering whether to go in since I may not like the answers.

I turned and left.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

It Happens Like This

How many years since your hand found her knee? She will never leave you. Your voice is her background music, her dance. Smile at her from across the kitchen, her hands sorting knives and forks. Her smile is for you, but her thoughts are there, with him. That day. Cold wind pulled them close. Her hand on his neck, his hands in her hair. She knows by now she'd have tired of him as well. Forgotten how she spent afternoons in his freckled arms. She'd gaze across a room not seeing him, not feeling more than this slow, quiet day.

From Guest Contributor Beth Mead

Fool

People stared as my white wedding gown dragged along the pathway to the motel room, my head piece barely hanging on. I shut the door and removed the pins from my hair shaking the curls loose. That snake cheated on me with my best friend on our wedding day. I snuck to the house and packed a bag as soon as I saw them together. Now I’m in this dumpy motel, my wedding gown thrown on a chair that has cigarette burns, while staring blankly at the television.

I won’t be made a fool of.

They’ll find that out soon.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Deep Slumber

Every part of my body ached; and my hair was pasted to the pillow from sweat. My lips were dry, yearning for water, but I couldn’t drink with the tube down my throat. I’m in the hospital, but what happened?

There’s movement around me, but it’s just a blurred mess. My head feels as if it was struck with a hammer, the pain shooting down to my neck.

I heard voices.

“She needs surgery to remove the swelling. Sarah suffered severe head trauma in the accident.”

Is that a doctor?

Slowly I’m being moved and sedated into a deep slumber.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher