Soldier’s Return

It’s been years since I could feel my wife’s hands on my body, and I can’t wait to lay next to her in bed caressing her soft skin.

I didn’t know what to give my kids for Christmas, so I made a collage of all the letters and pictures my son and daughter sent me. I made the same gift for my wife, but with a personal touch, for her eyes only. Their pictures and letters helped keep me strong through the long war.

The bus has come to a stop.

The three of them are here, smiling, anxiously waiting.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Machiavellian Necessities Of A Woman On The New York City Subway

For the majority of Deb's daily commutes, she preoccupied herself with the most strategic seat location choice. She normally picked the open space closest to the door. She didn't like standing, when it felt like every male gaze pointed her way, or looking for less populated corners, where some old dude would inevitably decide it was cool to plop their sweaty ass right next to her or, sometimes worse, directly across from her.

Being near the exit provided the comfort of knowing she could quickly escape at any stop, should it ever become necessary.

This necessity was a weekly occurrence.

Sonny Boy

Stop! You there STOP! Shouted the policeman.

No way was I going to stop. I didn’t do anything. The cops just wanted anyone who had been near the riot to bring in and arrest, and it wasn’t going to be me. So I ran. And I ran smack into a horse which knocked me flat on my ass.

“Where you going there sonny boy?” smiled the burly officer on the even burlier horse. “It’s Christmas mister, I was just heading home to my gran’s. She ‘d kill me if she knew I was even near a rally.”

Too Bad boy!

From Guest Contributor Philip Diehl