When I stepped into the cold of the night, the wind against my face, there wasn’t a soul in sight. I walked the streets in desperate need of an answer. Those files I found would ruin the company and probably cost me my job but inevitably save lives. I wish I hadn’t come across those documents. At least I wouldn’t have insomnia.

And that’s the right thing.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Clocks are next to useless and no alarm cares what you think of it. Their noise is neither birdsong nor church-bell. It is measured by eye-blinks and muscle contractions. Clocks reflect anxiety when the big hand overtakes the little. Their seconds are like tickles of hair. Sometimes clocks are said to be buying time. But what happens when that time is only borrowed? Clocks stop without notice when their time is up. When their battery runs out, it sounds like the click of a tiny rifle; the tapping of a deathwatch beetle. No one hears it until it’s too late.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell

What kind of clouds do you like most, I asked, and he said definitely horsetail cirrus and then he said no cloud is like another and that’s when I told him what Judy said about zebras, that no two are the same; that each is as unique as a fingerprint and the young memorize their mother’s pattern to find them in the herd or running along the ancient migration where they hang out with wildebeests because zebras have keen eyes and wildebeests have keen noses and zebras eat long grass and wildebeests eat short. I like tall thunderheads, I said.

From Guest Contributor Jeanie Tomasko

In a quaint village beyond the hills, lived a scatterbrained chicken named Cluckers. Every morning, Cluckers would lay eggs and forget where she put them. The villagers chuckled, but Farmer Ben grumbled, “No eggs for breakfast!”

And Cluckers? She never forgot that lesson again.

From Guest Contributor Chinmayi Goyal

When I flung open the door and saw my father’s body in a pool of blood, I collapsed, screamed and cried in a fit of rage and sadness. I knew I shouldn’t have left him. He said it would be safer at Aunt Ania’s, but nowhere is safe in Poland. I had no idea the Nazis could be so brutal. He was protecting his friends and now he is dead, and they are in the hands of the Nazis.

I have nothing to lose.

From Guest Contributor Lisa Scuderi-Burkimsher

The new neighbors were installing an elevator in the three-story home on the corner. As soon as it was finished, they handed out tickets like we were going for a ride. When the doors opened, we stepped out into a blistering afternoon, where men were struggling with giant blocks of stone. Were they busy creating one of the ancient wonders of the world? It looked like we might be witnessing a miracle, but the air was stifling, thousands of years old. Wasn’t it time to go home and relax? Kick off our shoes, call an end to this crazy day?

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

They slept in front of stores closed for the day. Others pushed personal belongings in shopping carts.

I resumed my mission as the sun lowered into its nighttime place, knowing that at some point I won’t have enough bottles of water to distribute to those in need.

From guest contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

I browsed old photographs and hoped it would ease my sorrow. It was two weeks since he passed, and the heartache was unbearable, my chest heavy. I collapsed on the couch and clutched a picture in my hand. I revisited that day in my mind. He had just bought me a large pretzel and we were about to go on the Ferris wheel. Mom took the picture of us right before the ride. He looked so happy, his arm around me smiling, mustard on my lip.

“Goodbye, Daddy.”

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

“Ed, I can’t go on.”

“Thank God… You know, Ed, I always get a little nauseous when I swallow seawater.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

They were only pygmy hippos, she said, and she was planning to have them fixed. They were emotional support animals, one for each of her personalities, so there was nothing we could do about it. The pond became unspeakable, even though it was still below freezing. They floated there in the muck like ominous little storm clouds forming over smog. Trucks delivering their crates of fruit and greens continually blocked the driveway. Then one day their gauzy pink wings emerged. Angels, someone whispered, despite the aerial bombardment of neighboring gardens that now commenced. Then the local population began leaving offerings.

From Guest Contributor F. J. Bergmann