Relishing The Day

When I step into the taxi, what happens next is something I will never forget…

It is warm so I loosen the annoying necktie and use my handkerchief to wipe the sweat from my brow.

I gaze out the window at the immense buildings relishing my first time in Manhattan. Tired from the flight, I rest my eyes. There is time before we reach the office building.

A loud honk and screeching tires startle me. Coming toward us is a large white truck.

As I’m loaded onto the ambulance in a stretcher, fading, my handkerchief lays torn on the ground.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Tire Chains

"I'm packing tire chains in the boys' luggage. Just wrap them around the tires," the father of my two nephews advised.

"Sounds easy." I reply. "We'll have fun in the snow!"

Three days later, my nephews and I are standing by the snow-laden roadside with tire chains wrapped around the axle.

We look forlorn and lost. A park ranger passes by, a CHP passes by, and a dozen travelers glance at a young woman and two children in distress.

"Lady? Need some help?" says a tatooed Hell's Angel over the roar of his Harley.

"Please! You are an angel. Thanks."

From Guest Contributor Deborah Shrimplin

The Importance Of Listening

I went on my own because I couldn't get anyone to come with me. What had once been an orchard was now a graveyard for old tires, sprung mattresses, rusty paint cans, even broken microwaves, scattered over the slope like the indecipherable wreckage of some puzzling event. The trees, untended for years, had long since stopped producing apples and been twisted into painful shapes by time and storms and then overwhelmed by creeper vines and opportunistic birds and insects. I just stood with my head cocked to one side as if trying to catch every single word the crows said.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie co-edits the journals UnLost and Unbroken.

In That Moment

Chuck entered the car in a hurry and drove off, tires screeching. His wife, Hallie, was in surgery and he promised to be there when she awakened. He sipped his Starbucks coffee and wondered when the traffic would let up, cursing and punching the steering wheel.

After an hour, the cars started moving and Chuck sped up determined to make it on time, when his cell rang. He turned and grabbed the phone. In that one moment his eyes were off the road, he swerved and crashed into a guardrail.

Chuck would be at the hospital, but not for Hallie.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Infinite Summer

God had bleached everything. The shattering sky. Erin’s face. Even our baby’s perfect hands were white.

Tiny, frozen fingers assail the windshield while Erin shivers in the passenger seat. I ease the gas pedal cautiously, hesitantly–-coaxing a reluctant lover.

Tires slip and I wonder if it would be so bad, sliding to our end in ice and pavement. Why not, with the cold body of our almost baby left at the hospital?

Erin clutches her abdomen, lingering reflex, and whispers the name I refuse to remember. The name we picked when the world was warmer and life infinite summer.

From Guest Contributor Sierra Donahue

Billboards

The headlights shine into the speckled misty darkness and my tires shoosh me along the Interstate, still late and many miles from the warehouse. How many hours have I been on this road?

I roar past the billboard that urges me to arrive safely, before I pass one that tells me to drink and drive. Then comes my favourite: the cute white Nivea girl, her frilly chest lit up like cat's eyes. I would love to think about that chest as I close my eyes and drift to sleep, but this vague honking will not let me sleep, just sleep

From Guest Contributor, Garreth Keating