Resistance

The bomb exploded and debris collapsed all around. Covered in dust and choking from dryness, I ran to the alley. A sharp pain in my leg, I realized I had a large gash. I tore the sleeve of my shirt and wrapped my leg to stop the bleeding. With the gestapo in the area and people screaming, I stayed put.

After hours of cramped space and agonizing discomfort, I got up from the ground and limped to the safe house where my team awaited.

The resistance would be pleased with my finding and hopefully the allies would be here soon.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Escape Route

Nadia rushes through the streets. Gunfire and bombs go off in the near distance and people are scrambling, and screaming, knocking into her while sweat drips down the nape of her neck. Her breath is shallow from the heat and clouds of black smoke fill the air. She uses her sleeve to cover her face from breathing in the toxic fumes, but she coughs heavily. She prays her husband is safe, but she hasn’t heard a word since he left to fight for their country.

She reaches the bridge.

A bomb explodes creating darkness and the bridge collapses beneath her.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Welcome Back, Class Of '96

“Do you want me to hold the...?”

The song is about to start, something by Vanessa Williams. His one good hand is pressing on her waist. She does not know what to call the other one, the absence.

He shakes. “I can just put my arm here.” He rests his folded sleeve on her pink shoulder strap. They have been given a wide berth by the other couples on the gym floor.

They shuffle together in silence. Finally, she asks. “How did—?”

He shrugs. “Cleaning the picker.” Somebody had turned it on by mistake.

“Does it hurt?”

Sometimes. It tickles.

From Guest Contributor Brennan Thomas

Is This What You Thought Married Life Would Be Like?

“Is this what you thought married life would be like?”

The first time Ann asked me that was at a church wedding, with me holding our three-month-old as he filled his diaper. Excrement slowly seeped down into my suit jacket sleeve.

The question was always asked facetiously: Ann’s way of finding humor in challenging situations (little league games, parent-teacher conferences, prom night). It helped. We always smiled and, sometime later, laughed.

Now, married thirty-eight years, with grandkids and happily retired, she asks me again as we sit together at dinner.

Smiling, I answer, “Oh yes...even better than I thought.”From Guest Contributor Mike Nolan

Mike is a freelance writer living happily ever after in Port Angeles, WA, USA. Mike is the author of the forthcoming memoir My Second Education, and has a web presence at mikenolanstoryteller.com.