The air is ominous, and lightning brightens the sky. I hold onto the mountain with both hands. I’m an avid climber, but the weather forecast is wrong. The sky is not abundant sunshine.

I wave my hands in victory.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

As I pass through the automatic doors into the library, the smell of musty books fills the air. I browse the shelves for what seems like hours until I come across a fantasy novel with magic and fire breathing dragons. My favorite.

All my worries fade away.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

I opened my eyes and saw everything in a new light. The worries of the past few months seemed to have just vanished into thin air. The constant throbbing pain in the back of my head was now gone. I felt like dancing and singing at the top of my lungs. Suddenly I heard some raised voices and the sound of weeping. Intrigued, I walked a few paces and entered the room from where the sobbing came. There was a woman in a blue dress crying, looking at something on the bed. I glanced at the bed and saw myself.

From Guest Contributor Madhavi Agnihotri

I write my worries in the sand. They stretch across the beach, one after another. I shake as I write them – the pain intense. Finally, I finish. I walk away from them and sit down on the dry sand above the tide line to wait. The waves rush in, lapping over the words, washing them away. The tension leaves my shoulders as the sand smooths out, but the pain is still there. Will death wash away aches like the tide waters? Will I become smooth like the sand as I wash out into the eternal sea of the next horizon?

From Guest Contributor Tyrean Martinson

Tyrean is a daydreamer, believer, and writer from the Pacific Northwest.

Lillith’s earliest memory is of her nail poking at her father’s love handle. As if her finger was able to inject happiness, and heal the month-to-month worries that emerged as dollar signs in his eyes, just around his pupils.

On her thirtieth birthday, Lillith’s parents pulled up to her one-hundred-and-forty-four-square-foot tiny home. As Lillith washed the sand off her feet, her mother whispered to her father, “When’s she gonna grow up?”

From Guest Contributor Susan Shiney

Susan is a writer, painter, and teacher originally from Southern California. She is now living in Lille, France.

I held her dainty hand, her fragile bones hidden deep within her withering skin. Her once cerulean eyes, now slate-grey from worries of not knowing, look at me longingly as if I had all the answers. Her time was slipping, and that’s what she wanted; to be with her Papa… her Mama… her Mamoo… I wish she could remember; the stories she told… her children’s names… me… I opened the photo album on my lap. She smiled down at the pictures. “What a beautiful family you have.” My eyes fixated on her, wishing she could remember… they’re her family, too.

From Guest Contributor McKenzie A. Frey