Tank Man

No one knows where he came from. He simply appeared on the streets from nowhere.

He stood defiantly, one man against a nation, a beacon of hope, a harbinger of doom.

He became a symbol around the world. To many, he was an emblem of brave resistance. To some, he was a token of what one person can accomplish against all odds.

Nothing is known about who he is or what made him believe one man was able to stop an army.

No one knows what happened to him afterwards. But the truth is everyone knows what happened to him.

The Paisley Tattoo

We couldn’t afford real tattoos – we were too young, anyway – so we borrowed a stick-and-poke kit and I let Jim attempt a yin-yang symbol on my back. Mom called Jim the artistic twin; said he needed an outlet – but that was the encouragement of a mother loving her son too hard. His sweaty hands shook and slipped; after an hour, he quit, and we never spoke of it again. On our eighteenth birthday I had my brother’s work converted to a paisley that I’d later recreate for a favorite tie; Jim spent his money on a different set of needles.

From Guest Contributor Rich Gravelin

Rich writes short fiction from the woods of central Maine.

Yellow Rose

She stood in the kitchen, surrounded by packed boxes. The yellow rose lay wilting on the coffee table; a reminder of the stunning events of the past several days. In flower parlance, yellow roses ask for forgiveness. She knew her marriage was in trouble when her husband turned up with a sheepish look on his face and a yellow rose in his gloved hand. Now it wilted on the table, a ridiculously anti-romantic symbol of their once healthy and robust relationship. He had moved in with the dog trainer and she was left feeling as faded as the damned flower.

From Guest Contributor JoAnne Dowd

There Hangs The Sword

There hangs the sword, the one handed down from father, to son, to me, the symbol of my family, the defender of our home, the weapon that has slain hundreds, that fought for our homeland in the long war, and struck fear into our enemies, the blade that was retired but never allowed to dull, that was laid to rest but never sheathed, that was put on display as a reminder to all future interlopers this house will forever be vigilant, there is the sword even now, still hanging there, as I slowly bleed out on the floor below it.