Confidentiality

Busy medical clinic. Patient-chart filing cabinet stuffed. More charts waiting to be shelved, by me. Where to?

It’s the Computer Age. The weight of paper is seriously impacting office health.

I walk by my desk, accidentally knocking down the records I’m to file.

Uncle Frederic is a patient here. He hasn’t told me why.

Footsteps?

Have to gather the wayward folders and pile them neatly onto the desk. The night patrol nods, passing by my opened doorway.

Tomorrow’s a new workday. Perhaps I can linger again after office hours and find out why uncle visits this clinic once a week.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

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