An Hour Ago

This chipmunk has run up to me twice now. It retreats again and I crouch to tie my shoe. My eyes track my new acquaintance, surrounded by lush pines, miles of mountain-top views, and a deer carcass ransacked by the food chain about ten feet away from me. A ding distracts me from my observations–you texted me. We were meant to go somewhere an hour ago, but an hour ago I was already on this trail. The predators which are surely on this path, brush which camouflages them, and the overlook’s treacherous heights will always be more unwavering than you.

From Guest Contributor Morgan Sanders

Morgan is a student of biology at Pikes Peak State College.

Assignment

I had been told of the dangers of the assignment and assured my boss that I could handle it. Now on the dark, ominously quiet streets after curfew, in Nazi-occupied Poland, I wondered. I told myself I’m doing it for my country and for myself.

I hid the folded map in the secret compartment in the heel of my shoe. If I am captured, we will all be tortured and then executed.

I continued until I reached my destination and handed over the map to the leader of the resistance.

I finally let out a sigh of relief and wept.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Trap

Rachel pulled her hat covering her face and walked. Curfew was about to begin, and the gestapo would be patrolling. She had an important piece of information tucked inside her left shoe and she had to get back to the safe house.

Rachel heard footsteps and a chill ran down her spine. They became quicker and then it went dark. A hand touched her shoulder, and she was about to run, when a man’s voice said her code name, Vivian.

“It’s too dangerous to go back to the safe house. Quickly, come.”

Soon Rachel would realize it was a trap.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Document

The rain pelts my face, the umbrella useless. I walk quickly, but not enough to draw attention. I must get to my destination and back before curfew.

The document I carry may save countless lives. If the Nazis stop me for a search, they’ll never find it.

“Do you have it?”

I place the umbrella down, dripping, release my shoe and pull the document from my heel, handing it to the contact.

“Good work,” he says and hands me a paper that I neatly place into the heel of my shoe.

I leave and make my way home before curfew.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Bad News First

Every morning there were dumpsters full of newborn babies. Every evening there was one brown shoe at the side of the road – with, some said, a foot still in it, tapping. I developed a theory that we were all just the debris of a distant explosion. By then I knew no one was coming to save me. Even the letter carrier would regularly ask for proof I was who I was before handing me my mail. As I took my driver’s license out of my wallet, little white spiders would fall from somewhere and melt like snowflakes in her hair. From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's latest full-length poetry collection, Gun Metal Sky, is due in early 2021 from Thirty West Publishing.