Forgiveness

She walked along the deserted beach, cold wet sand hard underfoot, leaving her well-formed arch, her heavy heel dug-in tight, her human track. She scanned the choppy grey ocean, a seagull skimming along ready to dive. Looking ahead, an outcropping of massive black boulders stumbled together into a makeshift Henry Moore sculpture. The solid blocks of granite, columnar or reclining, soft-edged or angular, were reminiscent of her mother. The stoic strength, the impermeability, the dense solid weight of judgement. She had framed her adult life accordingly, with a negative imperative: I will not be like my mother.​

From Guest Contributor Holiday Goldfarb

Absolution

The grocer pointed at the boy they called Happy Joe, who crouched against the wall drooling on himself.

"Not only did the cretin steal fourteen dollars, but he exposed himself to Barksdale's daughter."

"Why's that my business?"

"First off, you're his Scout Master. Not to mention, that boy's your son. Plus, you're the constable and responsible for keeping the peace."

"I see where you're coming at this from, Mel. But the way I see it, every man's responsible for his own actions. I leave it to churchmen to decide the right and wrong of things. Who am I to judge?"