Isiah Rogers was at the top of his game in basketball, he was a baller. He led his team at WSU with confidence and grace. He had a 4.0, at times it was difficult but not impossible. Like his grandma, who raised him, used to say, “Isiah, you can live with the pain of discipline or the pain of regret.” Don’t live like your daddy, live like your mamma.”every time he thought about his gran, he couldn’t help but smile.She was hard on him but he learned to understand that working hard was better than living hard. He looked around the court, no one was watching, he sped down the hardwood and in one graceful motion he slammed dunked the ball. The university didn’t want the team dunking unless it was in a game but Isiah needed to feel the power of flying through the air. It made him feel invincible and strong. He also enjoyed how that movement made him think about gladiators running up towards an opponent with their trident and finishing the duel. Obviously he wasn’t killing anyone, he loved learning about gladiators since he was a child and he thought about being a basketball player similar to a gladiator entering the arena.

What resounding theme do we hear when people are dying. “I wish I would have….. I don’t want that phrase hanging from my lips. I don’t want family and friends reiterating comments like “what happened? She had so much promise.“

I chose to live with the pain of disciple NOT of regret.

She heard the noises, of course it happened right after she found a comfortable spot under her down filled comforter. She strained to hear more clearly. Scratch, scratch than a pause followed by a long scrape. Wow, there must be a rodent living up in the duct work. Well, don’t get comfortable up there. Don’t make your home a luxury apartment. There is no Vacancy here she thought. She continued reading her book, it wasn’t the greatest read but it was better than television. Four hundred plus channels and half of them reality shows. Please! She had more class than getting obsessed with real housewives of trash, I mean whatever state was currently showing. She couldn’t believe how many of her friends and co-workers watched that garbage. Actually that is an insult to garbage, some rubish you can actually make art out of. “SCRATCH”. What the hell!!! That was really loud. She was getting nervous, sounded like a rodent bigger than a mouse, shit, maybe a rat. Gross, she didn’t want to deal with a huge rat! She quickly uncovered herself and put her ear to the vent floor. She strained to hear. The information she heard before buying the cute bungalow started to crop up in her brain.

“There is one piece of information I am obliged to inform you of. “ What is that?” I asked. The real estate agent seemed hesitate, then laughed nervously and uncomfortably. Well, some people say the place is haunted. “Haunted, why would they say that?” “Well, because the woman that had this home built for herself and her daughter was ecstatic about finally bringing her sick daughter home from the hospital. Her daughter had health issues, not sure exactly the issue but she had been in and out of facilities since birth. About a month after they got home and settled,

She heard the scratching noises, of course it happened right after she found a comfortable spot under her down filled comforter. She strained to hear more clearly. Scratch, scratch than a pause followed by a long scrape. Wow, there must be a rodent living up in the duct work. “Well, don’t get comfortable up there. Don’t make your home a luxury apartment. There is no Vacancy here she thought.“ She continued reading her book, it wasn’t the greatest read but it was better than television. Four hundred plus channels and half of them reality shows. Please! She had more class than getting obsessed with a real housewives of trash, I mean whatever state was currently showing. She couldn’t believe how many of her friends and co-workers watched that garbage. Actually that is an insult to garbage, some rubish you can make art out of. “SCRATCH”. What the hell!!! That was really loud. She was getting nervous, sounded like a rodent bigger than a mouse, shit, maybe a rat. Gross, she didn’t want to deal with a huge rat! She quickly uncovered herself and put her ear to the vent floor. She strained to hear. The information she heard before buying the cute bungalow started to crop up in her brain.

The Bungalow. Excel at writing thrillers and children’s books. Mother of four, in the past, many a chore was filled with elation upon completion of young people becoming successful adults. At the young age of fifty finishing undergrad in physical therapy with secondary degree in creative writing. This thriller is sure to delight.

M. E. Russell. marathonwomener@yahoo.com

My upper lip felt itchy, like my mustache, which I just waxed yesterday, hadn't even happened! That 35.00 dollars, wasted.

Well, I guess I'd have to wax it myself. It was pitch black in my bedroom, while stumbling out of bed, I hit my knee on the sideboard. "Damn it," I reached down to comfort my throbbing knee, I retracted my hand back so fast I almost slapped myself in the face. My knee felt like my pubic hair had a reproductive orgy all over my knee cap! The hair was as thick as an overgrown yard! What was going on? I raced through the dark, by memory, to the bathroom. I flicked the light on so quickly I was blinded. For a moment I couldn't see anything. I rubbed my eyes until the light bulbs, my sink and the bathroom rug became visible. I opened and closed my eyes slower and focused on the mirror. A scream deep and resounding came out of my mouth. I yelled for what seemed like an eternity. I put both hands over my lips to stop the primal hysterics.

My hair was short, think and darker than my usual color. I had a full on mustache, my eyebrows were thick, like two adult caterpillars were resting above my eyes. The shocking part, the wondrous, horrifying reality was I was a man! A man!!! Was I dreaming? I slapped myself, I almost knocked myself out, I had a new strength which I didn't possess last evening. What had happened? What had I eaten? Had I been poisoned? Why was this happening? My thoughts were interrupted by my alarm going off for the second time this morning. I checked the time on my phone. I had thirty minutes to get to work! What was I going to do? I couldn't go to work! Besides the obvious fact of not owning any men's attire, I was a man! My employer for the last five years expected me as a woman. No one would believe I'd had an overnight sex change. Some change yes, like a new haircut, new clothes, sure, but I was Changed!!! I needed my mother!

The secret I have I can't bring to the surface. My secret whispers in my ear at least once a day. I can not indulge my private longing, it would destroy all that is precious in my life.

So I tame the secret telling it, "No," when it asks, "Can I come out, can we act out?" My secret is like a small child with no restraint. Children must have discipline just like my secret desire that will always, forever remain suppressed.

Sexy is internal

Some people think rockhard abs are sexy.

Some people think blondes are sexy.

Some say a size four is sexy.

Some say a large chest is sexy.

Sexy is a husband who makes dinner,

without being asked.

Sexy is a kiss with, “You look lovely.”

Sexy is I’ll raise our children with a faith I don’t always understand.

Sexy is sometimes internal. Sexy can be selfless giving, sacrifice and sometimes putting others before yourself.

Sexy is the exact opposite of what our culture projects... Sexy can be internal rather than external.