For The Record

“She was attractive. Cute face.”

“Facts, please,” the officer cringed, pausing his pen.

“Black-rimmed glasses, plum lipstick and...”

“What was stolen?”

“My cellphone. One minute in my hand. The next, gone.”

A woman was called to the counter by the second officer on duty.

“Reporting a theft,” she announced. “Thief had salt and pepper hair.”

“What was taken?”

“My cellphone.”

The officers compared the complainants with the details given.

“You two realize making false claims is an offence,” one said.

“We can let you go this time,” the other scolded. “Go home and make up or see a marriage counsellor.”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction regardless of the season or location she finds herself in.

Time Travel

For nearly three weeks, I found myself in a state of utter confusion. Despite using my usual login details, I was unable to access any of my accounts. It was as though I wasn't myself, like something else had taken over my body. I entertained the possibility of theft or insanity, but my motherboard's lack of responsiveness left me with more questions than answers. It reluctantly crossed my mind that I had been transported elsewhere. However, how and why I would end up there was still a mystery. These unexplainable experiences have left me feeling perplexed and uncertain. Time travel.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Absolution

The grocer pointed at the boy they called Happy Joe, who crouched against the wall drooling on himself.

"Not only did the cretin steal fourteen dollars, but he exposed himself to Barksdale's daughter."

"Why's that my business?"

"First off, you're his Scout Master. Not to mention, that boy's your son. Plus, you're the constable and responsible for keeping the peace."

"I see where you're coming at this from, Mel. But the way I see it, every man's responsible for his own actions. I leave it to churchmen to decide the right and wrong of things. Who am I to judge?"