By Marge Lurie

Maybe I was wrong, but I thought I knew what he meant. At a certain point,

you're old enough that it does all count. You've put your time in, one way or

another, and it has led you to where you are. The path you took might have

led you somewhere else entirely; and different paths might have led to where

you are. But, for better or worse, your path was your path.

By Andrea Scrima

I only realized in hindsight how close she'd come to killing me. One day, how many years later was that, I suddenly had to think—and how long had it been since either of them had crossed my mind—of course, of course, she was pondering it all the while, imagining sending me sailing straight off the cliff with one good, hard push...

By Susan Buttenwieser

They take the Red Line inbound, switch at Park Street for Kenmore Square, the car filling up at each stop with more and more fans and their requisite accessories: Red Sox baseball caps, T-shirts, jackets, flags, foam fingers, kids with streaks of red in their hair. By the time they reach their station, it's so packed, they can barely move and are swept along with...

By Nicole Elizabeth

She points to a man on a stool at the end of the bar. He looks like the creepy old guy from the Metallica Unforgiven music video. It's Alphabet City, he probably is that guy. He looks up at me, winks. Someone once told me that if people wink at you, it means they're lying.

By Keisha Bush

Moustapha kicks the door and stomps off cursing at her. She relights her cigarette. Aria walks into the room but before the woman can say anything she waves her away. When the cigarette is done she lights a new one and takes a prescription bottle out of her purse, two pills lie at its bottom. She swallows them dry.