This title is a collection of some of my new unpublished short stories. They are placed here temporarily until I should publish them in another collection, but offered to you for reading and thought.
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Tiny droplets pooled and rolled down the bedroom window pane. A cool and gloomy, rainy day it had been and would continue to be. While outdoor activities were out of the question, the day was ideal for hot drinks and cookies; and sorting through old papers and pictures accumulated over the years.
"Amazing how we've collected so much junk." My wife, Michelle, said to me as she took another cookie from the plate.
"I keep wondering why we ever kept most of this stuff." I said, setting my cup of tea back on the bed stand.
I flipped quickly through the papers: four, five, six consecutively all destined for the trash, and then a picture. I saw it and gasped. My wife turned quickly to see what I had seen.
"Oh, oh," she said, bringing her hand to her face, then immediately fell into tears.
Warm tears were now filling my eyes also as emotions swelled in my heart and thoughts flooded my mind. I wanted to hide that picture again someplace where it could not be found; and apologize to my wife just for the fact that she had seen it. But what was done could not be undone, and what was seen could not be unseen.
That day, that horrible day, now long ago, with all of the guilt, anguish, and pain, returned to me swiftly, as if today was that day. It was a day very much like today, under thick storm clouds and cold air; a rainy day today, on that day came heavy snow.
Michelle had become uneasy and apprehensive early that afternoon and, to me, seemed excessively alarmed. Snow had begun falling, sure, but not to any extent to cause concern. "Paul," she said, "I'm worried about the children. Maybe we should drive down to the school and get them today."
I dismissed her fears; sure that only the mood of the storm had raised her anxiety. "They have their bicycles dear; they'll be alright." I assured her.
About a half an hour later she returned. The storm had intensified. She spoke timidly and scared. "I'm worried about the children, Paul, something is wrong."
I placed my arm around her shoulder and held her close. "No cause to worry. They'll be fine."
I turned on the radio to settle her fears and to reassure myself that indeed all was well. Several songs passed, then one played with a phrase that would not leave my head: "down by the riverside, down by, down by the riverside." After the song finished, the words remained and repeated in my mind. I tried to refocus on the current song playing, but was suddenly struck by a thought, or feeling, I couldn't tell which, almost like a voice, but not consciously spoken: "Go down to the river." I dismissed it.
