The Walk

I must be insane walking the streets at 3 o’clock in the morning, but I need to clear my head and the air helps.

A dog lunges at me from the alley nearly biting my ankle. It growls and leaves. I head toward my apartment since I wouldn’t get any thinking done after that.

I’m about to put the key in the door when a tap on my left shoulder startles me and I jump.

It’s my son Jameson.

“Dad, I want help, I need help.” His beseeching voice says.

I unlock the door and leave it open behind me.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Key

I rummage through drawers and cabinets before placing everything back. It hits me then. There must be a hidden key somewhere. I look under every piece of furniture and there it is under the desk chair. I scan the room and come across a painting of the Fuhrer that is askew. I remove it from the wall and find a safe. The key fits.

Inside are papers with the Nazi’s plans. I memorize what I can and place the picture and the key back, making haste through the rear entrance without being noticed.

Outside, I breathe a sigh of relief.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Christmas Surprises

Kristy lights the Christmas tree, the glass ornaments glistening in the room. The freshly lit candle gives a warm aroma and the fireplace crackles. They tried for two years to conceive and today she received the wonderful news from the doctor.

Dinner is in the oven, and Kristy is wearing her best red sleeveless dress for the occasion. She sits near the fireplace and listens to the flickering flames, the sound soothing her nervous excitement.

She hears the key in the door and runs to the kitchen.

Cuddled in her husband’s arms is a tiny sleeping puppy.

Another Christmas surprise.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Good Neighbor

He waves from across the street, leaving, working nights again. Smiling, I return his wave. She watches him from the doorway, my gaze goes unnoticed.

Twilight passes, darkness falls. Lights go out in their upstairs window.

Patience. Give it time.

Minutes passing like hours.

Thinking back. Their vacation had been great, thanks for feeding the cat. Glad the new key worked.

It still works.

I fixed that squeaking door and creaking stairway for you.

Standing watch beside her, so lovely sleeping. She deserves more attention.

Sure, I'll keep an eye on the place while you're on graveyard shift. My pleasure.

From Guest Contributor Mirshaan.

Mirshaan has a BFA in Education. He loves words.

This Story Takes Place In Minnesota

Rebecca hurried from the office. She jumped into the front seat of her car, tossed her bag down next to her, threw the key in the ignition, then suddenly paused.

There was a stranger sitting in the backseat. Rebecca pulled out of the lot and headed towards the highway while trying to avoid looking in the mirror. An awkward silence hung in the air. Rebecca refused to be the first one to say anything.

When she finally pulled into her garage, Rebecca grabbed her bag and hurried into the house. She hoped the man would be gone by the morning.

A Modern Day Chastity Belt

I keep careful track of my house keys. Each one is tagged with a tiny GPS chip so that I can pinpoint their locations at all times. I note every person that has ever touched one in my key journal.

I don't trust locksmiths, so I apprenticed myself to learn lock making techniques. I developed a special algorithm based on integral wave theory to measure out the grooves, giving my locks the equivalent of 256-bit encryption.

You might consider me excessively cautious, but no one has ever broken into my house.

My key journal has only a single name listed.

Infernus

Key, copper, brassed to pocket. All my pockets, cash folded at the corners. Dirty, keep my fingers pointed down. Pennies in mouth, brassy taste bitter on my tongue a cancer canker sore. Lincoln freed the slaves. Hopeless. Key in slot, key in slot, key in slot.

Down the stairs, construction lot, empty hole, the copper and stone and concrete, vacated bones, constructed homes. The crane a symbol. The modern bird, flightless, tall, littered in locust stone. Watch the step.

Brick dreams stacked red on red. Maybe brownish red. Brick red. Crayola whitewash. I can’t forget my key ever. Don’t forget.

Genre: Joyce