She scurried across the crowded ground, snagging her habit on a few dead branches as she neared the abandoned chapel in the woods. The cross, symbolically missing from the triangled roof, confirmed her mischief. Devoted to her convent, at twenty-six, she believed the Lord was tempting her.

She had seen him many times, performing maintenance throughout the monastery. She kept her head down, shying away from eye-contact – until one day, he dropped his keys. She bent to retrieve them, the two bumped heads. From that day on, he apologized to the lady every-time their paths crossed, most recently, in the flower garden.

She slipped him a note amidst the baby’s breath.

Quickly ducking into seclusion, she peeked out the circular window, making sure she hadn’t been followed. She placed both hands upon the red bars that covered the opening. She sighed in disappointment, wondering if he read her letter.

She could feel his heavy breath from behind her, and then a slight tickle from his tongue as it gently caressed her neck. Chills crossed her entire body, sensation in places she’d never felt before. Her initial thought was to run, hide, repent for inviting him into her life. She froze. God couldn’t possibly disapprove of such pleasure. His lips followed his hands as they made their way across her shoulders. His nails, unmanicured, dug into the delicate curve of her back. She moaned. He spun her around, whispering her name. The beautiful creature’s eyes lit up like fire, two tiny horns grew perfectly from his brow, he pleaded with her to stay. His grip, powerful and convincing, caused her to fall to her knees. The walls around them crumbled, day turned to night. Weak in every sense of the word, she made a choice to weep for eternity.

“THIS IS NO PLACE FOR A COLORED MAN.”

He pulled his 1959 Chevy Impala around back of the only building left standing after the demolition of the old hospital and construction of the new. His headlights shined upon the blue door, a haunting reminder of how he was denied the opportunity to act as a surgeon on the front lines in this small Mississippi town. Folks were scared of a black man with a scalpel – banned from working in the daylight, he compromised.

Holding tightly to his black bag, he hurried up the walkway and threw the breaker before going inside. The lights buzzed, reflecting off the white floor and metal trays placed around the room. He changed into his white coat, washed and gloved his hands before saying a prayer.

The rear door swung open, in rushed two nurses quickly pushing a gurney. “Dr. Shadow, were you briefed over the phone?” He hated the name Dr. Shadow though in its own right, it was a compliment – he blended in with the night, healed the sick, and was gone before the light, referencing ‘the light’ some patients claim to see on the brink of death, proudly, he hadn’t lost one and didn’t intend to.

“Jerome Milliston, twenty-four, gunshot wound to the abdomen. He’s bleeding bad.” Sweat dripped from the nurse’s forehead. Both ladies had ran the distance of the long hallway that connected the main hospital to Dr. Willie Clay’s surgical arena hidden secretly away from the public. “He hasn’t a penny to pay or a property as guarantee,” she sighed.

Dr. Clay confidently began the operation that would save Mr. Milliston.

Thirty years later, he was placed on the Board of Directors of the very hospital that hid him away.

WHAT’S DONE IN THE DARK – ALWAYS COMES TO LIGHT.

I left home for the West Coast at seventeen, never loved the ocean but it called for me….That’s how I ended up with the deep-blue modeling agency.

My headset was staticky, finally, Joel’s voice came through. “Reach for the Nemo-looking fish,” he snapped a few photos and pointed up, time to move.

I memorized the coordinates, never leaving a paper trail. I grabbed the packs from underneath the coral and stuffed them into my duffel-bag. Nicknamed, Twelve pounds under the sea, a fool-proof exchange.

A mob of Agents stood waiting for us to pull ourselves, soaking wet, back onto the platform. I slowly released the dope, but Frankie-Fed was faster than the current, fishing it out with a net.

Joel and I were dragged away in cuffs. Joel took most of the charges after my paid lawyer quickly advised me to witness for the state.

Finally free…

“Isaac Martin.” A strange woman spoke, revealing her unfamiliar face as the dark-tinted window descended.

“Ma’am?”

“Invest in a better life.” She said. “My son once served in your occupation, losing more than six-months of freedom.” She sat silently reminiscing. “Come with me.” Reaching across the seat, she opened the door. With slim choices, I got in. She placed her hand over my heart. “This is what you must change. I have a project for you.”

We drove away….

I could see a basketball being hurled in my direction, I ducked. “Mr. Martin, come shoot some hoop.” The gymnasium was full of kids, all of whom knew my name.

“Yeah, okay.” I sat my clipboard down and dribbled a few feet before Junior stole the ball from me. I stopped, sighed and chased after him.

I needed a purpose in life and miraculously, I received one.

Penelope Peterson, short and thin, plummeted into the front seat of her grandmother’s Rooster red, rolling, ridiculousness. She’d fought tooth and nail to get her driver’s license without a tidbit of training. She somehow managed to persuade Theodore Blankenship, a month into his dream job at the department of transportation, to fib and give her a perfect passing grade on the road test. It wasn’t long before she realized favors are fixed with figures whether affordable or not.

Laying her head on the steering wheel, she imagined she’d escaped his view. Every hour of every day, she could feel Theo’s dark, piercing stare upon her body. It wasn’t until she leaned up that she realized he had draped his fragile, pale and ultimately feminine body across the top of granny’s go-go mobile. He reached his scrawny arms through the sunroof, wrapping his bony fingers around her neck, he choked the living daylights out of her. She kicked for a moment, lacking the fight Theo the thrill seeking nobody desired. Despite the disappointment, he chopped her chin into tiny pieces, placing blood drenched chunks into a picnic basket strapped to the trunk. He tossed the rest of her body into the forest and drove away. He happily hummed as drops of burgundy splattered down the pavement.

The trail of gore stopped at the end of the road. Theo pumped the brakes and with no success they forcefully found the floorboard, ending him up, rattled and unrecognizable at the bottom of Mount Misery.

The train’s whistle blasted as it approached the station. Marco moved in place trying to keep his blood flowing. He rubbed his arms with his gloveless hands, unable to remember a time in which his pea coat hadn’t kept him warm. His decision to join the Navy wasn’t made lightly. His dad hadn’t spoken to him since he left four years ago. Their disagreement stemmed from a hopeless situation that Marco refused to watch happen. His sick mother had only weeks to live when he set off to serve his country, leaving his old man alone with nothing but his beloved Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Now on leave and this close to Father’s Day, he decided to go see the old geezer, make amends.

The train screeched to a halt. Marco scooped his bag, climbed the steps and found his seat. He imagined the stories he and his pops would share. They were too much alike to have had a good relationship during Marco’s younger years but also too kind-hearted to stay at odds.

The wheels clacked over the rails, he was finally going home.

He took a taxi to the flower shop on the corner of Main. He purchased a bouquet of pink carnations and headed to Chapel Hill Cemetery. He needed to see her resting place, say a few words for inner-peace.

He asked the cabbie to wait for him.

Upon returning to the vehicle, he sat silently staring ahead. “Where to now, sir?” The driver asked, glancing back through the rearview.

“The first Motel you come to.” Marco said. He had no where else to go. The engravings on the tombstone revealed his father had passed away less than two months after his mother. Guilt stricken, Marco would soon choose to join them.

His heavy boots sent particles of dust slightly upward with each step. He groaned as he held on to the back of the chair before finally deciding to sit. The paper, neatly fixed in the typewriter had been placed there for him by his wife. What she expected him to do with it, he wasn’t sure.

He stared at the blank page.

He stared at the blank page.

He stared at the blank page.

It wasn’t blank.

His giant calloused hands trembled as he ran a finger across the red dot barely visible to the naked eye. It smudged, leaving an immovable blemish on his canvas.

A creaking sound from behind him sent chills through his body. His chest sunk as he turned to see his beloved hanging from the rafters. Her petite body swaying ever so slightly. Her eyes, red with blood. Pinned to her shirt was a note.

Don’t let my actions dictate your life. Write the ending to your own story. For better or worse, June.

He began to type.

I haven’t a story or a life that you are not part of. Death do us part. Love, Henry.

He placed the butt of his rifle on the floor and rested his chin on the muzzle.

“What are you reading May Ferrell?” Jay-Dub cut through the park on his way to Basketball practice. He’d seen May there numerous times but never thought to stop and speak – until today. There was something different about her, she had a strangely attractive glow.

“Seventeen magazine,” she giggled and patted the bench, inviting him to sit. “Come, take this quiz,” she flashed the page at him, batted her eyes and sheepishly smiled.

“Okay, but hurry. If I’m late for practice, the coach will bench me,” he quickly sat down.

“Looks like I’m the one benching you. Get it? Benching you? We’re sitting on a bench.”

“Yeah, funny. Ask me the questions.”

“There’s only seven,” she said.

Jay-Dub untruthfully answered all of them, one through seven, number seven made him the most uncomfortable. “Yes, I’ve French kissed a girl, plenty of girls, twenty to be exact. Why do you think they call me Jay-Dub?” He answered.

May tossed the magazine down onto the grass. “Show me,” she turned to face him, closing her eyes, she puckered up….. Nothing…. Nothing at all happened.

She slowly opened her right eye and then her left. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Something tells me your name should be Jay-Zero. You’ve never kissed a girl, have you?”

He sighed deeply. “I have!” He swallowed hard, put his hands on May’s shoulders to steady her and went for it. It lasted less than a second.

“Woah.” The two spoke in sync.

He grabbed his gym bag and began to run off. Stopping, he turned back to the girl. “Meet me here tomorrow, same time.”

“Uh-huh.” May stumbled in the opposite direction, loopy from love.

“Bring another one of those magazines. Do they make one called Eighteen?” He asked.

“Give me those!” Torin snatched the binoculars from Georgi’s hands and immediately put them up to his eyes. “Is that it?” He asked.

“Yup!” Georgi jumped into the cherry red convertible bypassing the door. Torin frowned rebuking his feet on the white leather seats. “Go!” Georgi pointed down the long stretch of highway leading to the dock.

Georgi slammed the magazine into his handgun then busted a couple of rounds into the air. Torin increased his speed knowing that what goes up must come down.

“You know how long I’ve waited on this! That ship holds our future! Onward!” He stood up, one hand holding the windshield and the other waving his gun, he screamed at the top of his lungs.

“Georgi, this whole thing makes me uncomfortable, the two of us robbing a cargo ship carrying diamonds from Tasmania. I had too much whiskey when I agreed to this.” Torin pulled the car over.

A loud blast echoed across the ocean. The boat quickly began to sink. Georgi jumped from the car, exited his clothing and ran towards the water.

“No! Georgi, come back!” Torin tried to stop his friend.

The evening news reported a suspicious explosion causing the demise of seafood ship, no mention of Georgi.

Torin wept as he read the ticks at the bottom of the television screen. A slight tap on his sliding glass door startled him. A tired, wet and alive Georgi stood smiling on the other side. “What? You thought I was dead? I swim with the strength of ten Moby Dicks!” He grinned then spit a diamond from his mouth, both men began to cry as they stared at the gem in Georgi’s hand. “I told you that boat was loaded!”

As a child, she despised the fluorescent green jacket with reflective safety stripes that hugged his body. His uniform embarrassed her though she never missed a meal and always had a roof over her head. His hard work paid for the tuition that her academic abilities couldn’t cover, yet her father was a blemish on her life.

She left home as soon as she was able and never looked back. Four years had passed, with her Bachelor’s degree in hand, she prepared herself for medical school.

“We did it!” Marva shouted as her entire class tossed their caps into the air.

Once the crowd began to disperse, she heard someone calling her name. “Marva,” his southern drawl made her head swim. She hadn’t invited anyone to join in on her special day.

“Marva,” he moved quickly in her direction. She caught a glimpse of his coat and then his teethy smile, both disgusted her. She groaned, stomped and turned to face him. The same green jacket, with the same familiar stench sent her fingers immediately to her nose, pinching it shut, she spoke. “I didn’t want you here!” Her voice, nasally and annoying, pierced his ears.

The old man hung his head. “You always cared more about what people thought than you did your own family,” he reached in his pocket and pulled out a key fob. The silver emblem put a smile on her face and a gleam in her eye. She looked across the parking lot, a giant red bow sat atop a luxury coupe.

“For me?” She reached for the keys.

He paused. “I love you Marva but you can’t get another dime from this old garbage man!” He retracted his gift and hobbled away.

It seems like yesterday, climbing up in the old guys lap. His arm around my little body, his giant hand resting on my thigh. It took my whole hand to hold his thumb. Leaning back on his chest, I knew what was coming next. “Flora May, I’m going to tell you a story.” His tone was gruff.

The dishes would stop clanking, Granny’d wipe her hands on her apron and sit down at the kitchen table. She was an even bigger fan of Pa than I was…maybe.

“Good overcomes bad.” That’s how his stories always began.

I’d stare at my reflection inside his glasses. This time I noticed small stems of blood traveling rapidly towards his pupils forming what looked like the trunk of a tree. A thick white mucus floated beneath his eyelids. He fumbled his words and shakily sat me down on the hardwood floor.

My grandmother ran to pick me up but he forbid her.

“The circle hasn’t been broken.” That’s all he said. He took her by the hand and led her out into the night. I was left alone until morning.

The sun’s crackling rays sent a fervent heat across the land. My grandparents engulfed, hung from ropes. A last attempt to rid me of the sin into which I was born.

I traveled by foot to find my place in this world but it wasn’t long until I wound up in the fire myself. Now I’m just wondering if you could take those keys and let me out of this hell? Oh… wait.. Maybe you don’t have that authority.