Unfinished Business

I returned from the dead, a list in my pocket: wrongs to right, pleasures to reclaim, truths to confess, sins to own. Mostly I needed to know how the world had fared without me. Apart from my poor mother, a grieving ghost of her former self, it was as if I’d never lived. Never loved. Never mattered. A stranger slept in my bed, alongside my darling wife, in my home, the one I’d slaved to pay for, my manicured garden now wildly overgrown. I fed the list to the fire. I’d start over from the very beginning, wherever that was.

From Guest Contributor Elizabeth Murphy

Vanity

There was a man I knew. He thought himself very clever and asserted he was better than me. His wrongs were a count of never (despite his relations often severed), and he swore he despised all lies. He would never show his heart, for if he had, we would plainly see a cruel and twisted thing failing his acclaim to measure. Many shared his only aim was to play people as pawns in his game. Misery was all his company could bring. Now he calls, and I neglect to answer. If perfection is his alone, I’d rather not the pleasure!

From Guest Contributor Jessah Rutledge

Jessah is a Marketing and Admin Assistant for a Realty Company and a Pikes Peak Community College student studying Fine Arts and Writing.