Step Nine

He rode that one hit as far as it would take him. Now all he had left was the blue guitar. He had hocked, sold, or left behind everything else, including the royalties. The blue guitar, even with the missing string; he couldn’t bring himself to part with that.

The alcohol and cocaine haze had lifted long ago, leaving memories from that time scrambled.

He knew she was blond, she wasn’t just any groupie, and he’d broken more than just a guitar string.

He needed to make amends but he couldn’t remember where the tour had been playing that week.

From Guest Contributor Simon Hole

Simon lives in rural Rhode Island where he taught fourth grade for 35 years, publishing essays and co-authoring a book focused on life in the classroom. Since retirement he has been playing poker, gardening, and writing short fiction. Some of his work can be found on-line at 101Words, The Zodiac Review, 200cc’s, and Bewildering Stories.

The Missing

Gerald curled his hands around his coffee, coveting the warmth to be found there. Sabrina wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, lingering long enough to give him a squeeze, before she hurried back to the kitchen. He took a moment to look at the faces of those around him and realized he wasn't the only one who was cold and exhausted. But they would be back out there searching as soon as their cups were empty, and so would Gerald.

He kept his smile to himself. He may have been cold, but at least his son wasn't among the missing.