5. Feed The Beast, by Bruce Levine
Feed the beast. Literally or figuratively. Each day it wanted more. Without the daily intake, there seemed to be no results. Why? He only knew that it was true, so each day he felt that he had to add another piece, more food, more fodder for the unending hunger of the beast.
It haunted him. It never left his consciousness that the beast was sitting there, waiting to be fed.
Each day he got up and knew that he had to do it.
Each day he had to post something new on the blog.
4. Torn, by Ella Craig
She stares at the evidence, which confirms her suspicions. She will confront him when he comes home from "working late" again.
He is early. 'I've finished the project. I'll be home on time from now.'
They eat supper, she washes the dishes, and he reads a story to Amy and Jake.
'You're quiet tonight,' he says, as they climb into bed.
'I'm tired.'
'Have a lie-in tomorrow. I'll cook breakfast; then we can take the kids to the park, and go out for lunch.' He kisses her and rolls over.
She will wait for the next time.
3. Heart Throb, by Lisa Miller
Susan rushes to the hospital after her husband has a heart attack on the way to work. "Please, God," she pleads. "Let him live." Remembering the angry words between them.
Slowly opening the door, Susan's heart rate starts to rise as she peeks into his room. Looking around, she sees three pretty nurses doting on him. "Hi, Sweetie," he gushes. "I feel great!"
A seemingly happier and more relaxed John comes home a week later. "Finally, time off from work," he says, smiling. Susan quickly ices over the fingerprinted cake before yelling at John Jr. and his sister. "Daddy's home!"
2. The Ebb, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar
I was calling her after thirty years. With each round of ring, my excitement surged. "Hi, Joy. It's you? Just unbelievable! Where're you? What're you doing? I'm so excited to be reconnected to you after so many, so many years." The call ended, unattended. I went on redialing. Finally, she picked up. I heard her speak. "Oh! Joy ... I'm now settled. And look--I'm too busy to talk. Sorry." And immediately she disconnected. The ebb laid bare the unsettling question. Was it a murder or a suicide? Or both?
1. Bridge to Cross, by Brian Taylor
As I drive across the bridge on this cold, miserable day, I look across the lake and have this strong desire to speed up and turn into it and see what happens.
A selfish thought, I know, but in my sad heart, I feel I have a good reason. I don't want to watch my dad die of lung cancer, and we've been told he's not expected to make it past this weekend.
But I guess dad's death is just another bridge I'll have to try and cross. And if I crash there, I'll have no choice in the matter.
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