Just a Bike

By: Ed Dzitko

Out in the garage, Kelsey limped toward the two wheeler. Dad was right. It was just metal, rubber, and plastic. It wasn’t mean or out to hurt her. It was just a bike, and it came to life only when she made it go.

Kelsey had learned to balance on the grass, so the hard spill she took on the street surprised her. The scrape on her leg had hurt like nothing she’d ever remembered feeling. And when Mom cleaned it…

Nope, not there. I can do this. She turned the handlebars and walked out to meet her friends.

Night Flight

By: Adam Donshik

My eyes snap open – a reflex action. Curiosity quickly sets in. I’m struck by it being colder, quieter and much more still than I could have imagined. Only moments before I was flying. Now, all is still. Almost peaceful. My memory tries to adjust but a strange pressure is starting to press in, and an unknown force is blurring my sight. Flashes of remembrance light past; warm memories of childhood skip through to adulthood: the highlights of a life peppered with the darkest of memories. They’re there and then they’re gone, slipping away into the building pressure and darkness.

Remembering to Smile

By: Melissa Ratliff

The afternoon was cool and crisp, as I walked with my hands in my pockets, shoulders hunched, and my eyes glued to the ground. Inside I felt as fractured as the cracks that ran across the gray concrete. My mind kept replaying the morning’s meeting, each time with a different version of what I should have said. Passing the park, a gasp and a giggle drew me out of my thoughts. Looking to the left I watched as a single bubble floated towards the sky. The swirling colors drew the first smile to my face in a long, long time.

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