He Was Beautiful by Ron Moore

When tragedy strikes we become sleuths. We reconstruct events to establish the belief that it should have been us, it could have been us, it was our fault or we caused their death somehow. The days pass into weeks, the weeks years until the memory fades and details dim.

The Story of My Father by Holly Karapetkova

He spoke seven languages and was never allowed to leave the country. He’d gone to school in Paris, which made him an enemy of the people. I’m sorry, but...

Lucifer by CL Bledsoe

When I went to pick my daughter up at pre-school, the kids were on the playground. Her teachers eyed me uncomfortably and glanced across the slide at each other before...

Hands in Flow by Cheryl Pallant

In 2009 I traveled near South Korea's Demilitarized Zone to visit and write an article about the then 79 year old shaman Kim Keum Hwa. During my second visit, she surprised me by asking me to get up and dance. After, and for the duration of the day, she and several of her disciples encouraged me to pursue a path as a shaman.

True Story Metaphors by Diana Smith Bolton

True Story Metaphor for My Parents' Divorce In this shrinking house, I am still growing, my wrist gripped between window and sill, one toe pinched in neat joists. Our mother’s footsteps...