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If They Only Knew, fiction by Mark SaFranko

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 ` W atkins was walking on air. He’d had a thing for Tara Tometski ever since he spotted her behind the flower counter at the ShopRite on Morgan Avenue, and now she was head over heels for him too. After two dates she’d messaged him a naked photo of herself from the neck down, and he knew that they’d crossed a threshold. He’d checked to make sure he hadn’t been catfished, and she assured him that yes, it’s me, it’s real, and I’m all yours. They were already in love, really in love. It was the promise of a new life, exactly what Watkins had been after. __________ But that Friday evening when he came to pick her up at her apartment she was as frigid as an ice queen. “You didn’t tell me about your wife ,” she fumed when she threw open the door of her little apartment. What the fuck? How had she found out? “ You’re not dressed to go,” he protested lamely. “ Didn’t you hear what I said? What about your wife ? You didn’t tell me you had a wife . And that ...
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WORKING VACATION, fiction By Michael Bracken

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L ess than an hour after their arrival, Bob and Marcie Jones stood on the floating dock of the riverfront Airbnb Marcie had rented and let the cool breeze rearrange their hair. Bob took his wife’s hand and pulled her close. “I’m glad you did this,” he said. “We needed to get away.” Though work took them all over the United States, they rarely had time to enjoy the places they visited. They never stayed anywhere more than a few days before moving on to their next assignment, and having a long weekend to themselves felt like an eternity. “ I hope you don’t get bored,” Marcie told her husband. Bob turned to face her. “I’m never bored when I’m with you.” He lifted her chin with one finger and kissed her gently. “ Hey!” Startled, Bob stepped back from his wife and reached under his jacket for something that wasn’t there. A hulking middle-aged man, a holstered Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum at his hip, lumbered down the path leading from their rental home to the dock. He stoppe...
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Down Here With The Rest Of Us, fiction by Stanton McCaffery

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  W hen I first got laid off, I made a promise to my wife and to myself that I wouldn’t revert back to the man I’d been twenty years ago, angry all the time and ready to fight at the slightest provocation. With a rough childhood I’d somehow pulled myself out of, I walked around with the weight of old pain hanging on my shoulders like a barbell - I would punch walls, start fights, and threaten to kill people in traffic. It took us a long time - both of us - to be better versions of ourselves and it all seemed to be suddenly yanked away because someone who didn’t even know me made the decision my company would be leaner and meaner without me and some other hapless assholes. My wife knew the lay off would fill me with rage - and it did - which is why the possibility of my regression had come up in the first place. I promised her I would find a healthy way to deal with my emotions. What was the method, you ask? Well, it was driving around to parking lots and stealing people’s cat...
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