Rider Of The Wind

Daylight spills over the trees, onto bones in our yard. A wind rattles the forest. We tense with fear. Before, we tended gardens, chopped wood, prepared for the next season. Now, we turn our homestead into a church, with crucifixes everywhere.

The minister won’t come.

We string garlic from the eaves, board our windows.

The wind steals our breath.

Father announces a plan. At dusk, as bait, I stand among animal and human bones. Behind me, through the cracked door, father points his rifle, waiting to shoot.

Inside the house, mother mourns her dead children.

Overhead, something rides the wind.From Guest Contributor Russell Richardson

Russell has written and published many short stories, illustrated a book of poetry, and created children's books to benefit kids with cancer. His YA novel, Level Up and Die! was published in April of 2021. He lives with his wife and sons in Binghamton, NY, the carousel capital of the world.

The Road Of Temples

Basel stood in awe at the Road of Temples. There were spires and steeples and domes and banners of every color stretched across the horizon. Every religion and denomination was represented here, competing for the attention of passersby. A person couldn't take a step in any direction without being accosted by a virtual army of ministers and holy men wishing to preach the one, true faith.

When Basel stepped onto the boulevard, there was a near stampede in his direction. He was the first visitor any of the clergymen could remember having seen. Most people avoided the Road of Temples.