Breaking The Rules

I before E except after C, unless I’m seeing too much ceiling from under my eiderdown. I turn my eyes in disbelief to my neighbor Keith, who at this moment is receiving eight heifers of various heights and weight. Having been neither seized in some heist nor had any profits forfeited, they are feisty beasts. A brawn of weightlifters, beings made of veiled skeins of protein, caffeine and bulging veins, takes them away, no receipts involved. Afterward, the men reign over steins of beer at their leisure. Weird that it should be so hard to relieve the stress of thievery.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell

The Accountant

Moana sat beside me to tell me all about her day. She tells me of how receipts are paid, how invoices are filled; the tedious swirl of records she manages and the way liabilities must be listed.

I listen to her speak, and the turkey on the table soon grows cold. Her eyes catch mine, and for a minute she hesitates.

“Don’t you dare stop,” I say before she could raise the question.

I have a Master’s in Accounting, and yet somehow I could listen to her speak about it all all over again, and still fall hopelessly in love.

From Guest Contributor Mahathi Sathish

The Passing Of A Friend

Migrant storekeeper Piero Altobelli met word of his old friend’s recent passing with great consternation. Upon hearing, he leapt from his desk in the backroom of his little grocery and flew into a rage. He swatted the week’s receipts into the floor, ripped the telephone from the wall, and yanked the office door from its hinges. All the while bemoaning at the top of his lungs. So uncontrollable was he, not even his wife Maria, could calm him.

“Somebody better tell that summabitch next time he pass a by my store,” cried Piero. “He better pay me what he owes.”

From Guest Contributor Russ Sparks

Russ is currently an MFA student attending Lindenwood University.