Abiding

I stir the White Russian, the clink of ice so soft, tender. I should be grading papers and concentrating on how to explain Rasputin and Nicholas II to my students. I just want to abide in White Russians and ice, a creamy sea.

I take a sip, savor cream-filled sensation. Hold onto it. Too many rules, kiss department chair’s ass. Don’t swear. Be responsible like Professor Gebert. Voices rise, like some discordant chorus.

I take another sip.

How rich I feel, world subordinated to ice-filled buzz.

I take another small sip, trying to keep creamy seas from melting.

I’m losing.

From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. His story, "Soon," was nominated for a Pushcart. Yash’s stories are forthcoming or have been published in Café Lit, Mad Swirl, 50 Word Stories, and Ariel Chart, among others.

The Vigil

Even to this day I curse, swear and kick myself for having dozed off that painful night. Though I kept vigil all through her illness, the feeling of guilt has never subsided.

She was my strength.

I knew the meaning of the cloudy eyes and immobility. After three consecutive nights, the strain on my eyes was too much and I slipped. It was at such a weak moment she chose to give up her fight...that hurt me.

My being awake at her last moments would mean nothing, but I feel guilty for expecting the death of my loving pet.

From Guest Contributor Thriveni C. Mysore.