Testimony

When my car flipped in the air, I presumed that was the end, but I was alive, and my wife and daughter were gone.

It’s been many months since the accident, and it felt like yesterday. I wheeled myself into court, paralyzed from the waist down, remembering the day the doctor told me I wouldn’t walk again. I thought, it doesn’t matter, and then I remembered my son, Charlie. I needed to be strong for him, so, I struggled through physical therapy.

The heinous drunk driver was brought before the court and his fate will be awaited by my testimony.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Punishment Without Crime

Oompah-pah music and traditional German drinking songs floated up from the street festival into the third-floor courtroom. I shifted uneasily from foot to foot as I stood before the scowling judge. One prosecution witness after another had described in specious detail my attitudes, conversations, habits, and interests. There was even testimony about the transparent Jewishness of my penis. Now it was finally my turn to speak. I had just begun when the judge interjected, “Spare us your life philosophy.” His face was grave. He studied me with cold, squinty eyes as if calculating exactly how much a person can bear.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of THE DEATH ROW SHUFFLE, a poetry collection forthcoming from Finishing Line Press.

Mistaken For Quackery

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

Dr. Jeremiah Jackson touted himself as the most learned man in the Northwest Territory. He offered cures, extremely cheap cures, for everything from consumption to the plague, and he guaranteed their efficacy. As far as he knew, in fact, he was the only man of medicine to offer guarantees of any sort, which should have been testimony enough as to his trustworthiness.

A man of such esteemed intellect deserved respect and accolades everywhere he traveled. So it was with great consternation that he found himself sentenced to death and hanging from a rope just a day's ride from Fort Detroit.

From Guest Contributor Oliver Park

Policing The City

The victims all offered the same sparse testimony. They were each accosted in a dark alley without warning. The last thing they remembered was a man wearing a black coat and fedora.

The police wanted to keep the stories from making it into the press, so as not to tip off the perpetrator. They made sure to silence all the witnesses.

Of course, a reporter got onto the news and he had to be eliminated as well. When it eventually leaked to the paper, it became necessary to kill everyone.

As you can see, policing the city is hard work.