My family sings and we eat ice cream cake, the crunchy bits dancing across my tongue. We shovel sugary forkfuls into our mouths, laughing and sharing kindred stories. We are warm. We are comfortable. We are sheltered.

Whistles for justice pierce the air before biting clouds of pepper spray surround the faces of protestors fighting for their neighbors. There is a shove, and all the world sees a cell phone raised in a clenched fist; a lifeless body sprawled in the street.

From Guest Contributor Brigitta Scheib

Brad felt like his entire life had lead to this moment. The weeks of relentless training. The years of cutthroat business success that made the expedition possible. The lifetime of dedication and sacrifice that helped sharpen his discipline to the point where absolutely nothing could ever stand in the way of accomplishing his goals. Not his family, not his peers, not any of the many unimportant distractions fate might place on his path.

“It’s all downhill from here, sir.”

The turkey is in the oven, and I breathe in the flavor. The table is set, and the apple pie is cooling on the counter; the sweet smell makes me want to eat a piece before the family arrives.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

When I walked into the restaurant, everyone yelled surprise and my heart palpitated with joy. A large sign above the room read “Happy Birthday, Breanna,” and my eyes watered. It was overwhelming with family and friends vying for my attention to plant kisses on my cheek, but thankfully my best friend Tina asked everyone to take a seat.

If only Ted was here.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

One summer, I went to Circus Camp. As an acrobat, I was overcome by terror, lost my grip on the trapeze, and plunged into the net before my partner could grab my ankles. Animals hated me. The dancing horse tried to bite me, and the performing poodles peed on my shoes. I looked hilarious in clown makeup, but my timing was terrible, and I was trampled while exiting the tiny car. I tried juggling and hit myself in the face with the balls. Fortunately, the camp staff were brilliant photographers; the shots they posted on Instagram made my family proud.

From Guest Contributor R.K. West

When I entered the restaurant with Kate, I scanned the room as everyone yelled surprise. I was stunned and stood motionless. Family and friends gathered around waiting to hug the fifty-year-old birthday boy. Balloons of different colors filled the room and small beer bottle opener party favors laid perfectly next to each place setting.

Everyone yelled speech, speech, so I raised my glass. Before I could get any words out, I thought of how I would tell my wife I just lost my job.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

House manager Morgan came into my room. He sniffed the air and looked disapproving.

Then the telephone rang.

From Guest Contributor Derek McMillan

Derek is the writer of “Murder from Beyond the Grave” available on eBay.

Her family loves apples so despite the fight she carted off in a cardboard box the tree’s fruit. My family has applesauce in its veins, was what she told me. When I saw her there were cores littering her countertops, a pan boiling on the woodstove. Did she see the metaphor? Those gnarled branches over her head. I took her coring knife, though cut fruit was a present I would not be offering, not to my relations. Beside me she sliced another tree-gift. By stovelight our wrists flashed, the lines in them crisscrossing as we worked, tangling and yet not.

From Guest Contributor Colleen Addison

I was only seventeen when I gave my baby girl away to a loving family. My parents were by my side as my heart ached and I cried to sleep every night.

On the other side of the door was my daughter waiting to meet her mother.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Up from clamor of Thanksgiving dinner, two voices drowned out the rest. Uncle Frank (Mom’s brother) and Uncle Norm (Dad’s brother), were at first pointedly not talking towards each other as they contradicted everything the other said. Then it was raised voices, direct, insistent, until they were shouting over everyone, ignoring their wives’ pleas.

There would be no more Thanksgiving dinners until after the war was long over.