Paper Thin Walls

Graham's 300 dollars a month bought him a two-room sublet on the Upper East side. The twenty-four hour access to entertainment from his coterie of neighbors was complimentary.

He was privy to all manner of arguments, heated conversations, shouting matches, and late-night confessionals. After only a few months, he was googling "How to become a therapist" now that he possessed real-world experience. Then there was the lovemaking.

Graham stopped watching TV soon after moving in. He found more value from the real lives around him rather than the fake ones on his television. He finally understood the meaning of authentic.

A Viking Burial

"Who does this anymore?" Joshua asked. "A viking burial -- is it even legal?"

I looked out at the lake, its opposite shoreline no longer visible under the moonless night sky. The family lake house was well secluded, shrouded in forest nearly twenty miles thick.

"It's what he would have wanted," I answered, glancing down at the lifeless figure in the wooden canoe, hands gracefully folded, with a wreath of crumpled newspaper haloing his head.

With a heavy sigh, Joshua waded the canoe out to water as I lit several matches. He smirked.

"Feels like cheating, without the bow and arrow."

From Guest Contributor Amanda S.