Gary had a way with the ladies despite his defects—he wasn’t handsome, bright, or employed. He also chain-smoked cigars, was chronically stoned, and overused fatuous slang. But women liked him despite his imperfections. Presumably, he possessed other characteristics irresistible to the fair sex.

Gary fancied himself an artist. He spent hours working in an abstract sculpture medium—he melted “found” metals together using a blowtorch. Few understood the theory behind his art and fewer still saw his finished product.

Gary’s wife, Beth, had a master’s in international relations. Many of her acquaintances declared they couldn’t imagine “why Beth ever married that guy.” Beth, too, had some unusual ideas—especially regarding sex and morality. She’d read a book entitled The Harrad Experiment, set at a fictitious college where students experimented with one another to explore and expand their sexuality.

Beth decided to adopt and apply the book’s tenets in her own life. She began this sexual exploration by pursuing liaisons with Gary’s married friends. One of Gary’s pals, a guy named Braithwaite, profited from the arrangement sexually, even though he didn’t approve of Beth’s adventures. He too was married and certainly wouldn’t approve of his own wife, Joyce, carrying on in this manner.

After Gary learned Beth was not living a monogamous existence, he decided to settle some scores. As mentioned, he had a way with the ladies. Also, his chronic unemployment afforded him ample opportunities to visit his friends’ wives while their husbands worked. Gary pursued the conquests one at a time, seducing the wife of each friend with whom his wife had dallied.

Gary made out pretty well in his affair with Braithwaite’s wife, Joyce—she was a fun-loving, fine-looking lady. People were surprised she fell for Gary. Word was she wasn’t getting at home what Gary was supplying. Additionally, as with most marriages, she and Braithwaite had their bones of contention.

Literally, though, Joyce was getting it at home from Gary. They were able to conduct their love affair in the bedroom at Braithwaite’s house since he worked at a job with predictable shifts.

If more than one person knows something it’s no longer a secret and Braithwaite eventually learned his wife had strayed but said nothing about it.

During a weekend when he was supposed to be squirrel hunting, Braithwaite instead wrote “Joyce” on one small slip of paper and “Gary” on another. He taped the slips around two separate .38 caliber slugs. Braithwaite then crept in his back door and into the dining room while Gary and Joyce slept in the bedroom. He placed the bullets, labeled “Gary” and “Joyce,” in a conspicuous place on the dining room table and left the way he came.

This demonstration had the desired impact because Gary and Joyce ended their dalliance after discovering the labeled slugs. This did nothing, however, for Braithwaite's marriage since he and Joyce separated and divorced soon after that episode. 

When I was a child I tied a towel around my neck for a cape and became Super Hero. I daydreamed I was an intrepid adventurer, climbing enchanted mountains filled with all sorts of monsters--and I chopped off all their heads with my Silver Laser Sword. But then I grew older, took a job in a bank and became a teller (hectic and abusive), was promoted to Vice-President (boring), and finally became President of the Bank (even more boring and tedious). THEN: I retired and became a writer. Now my life is as full of excitement and adventure (I conjure up both each time I write!) as it was when I was a child. Even more so. Now that all those "grown up, 9-to-5-job" days are behind me, I am once again Super Hero, once again intrepid adventurer, climbing mountains and slaying monsters to my heart's content . . . !

I strolled along a walking path through the park after Easter Sunday church service. Children were playing on the new grass, and the heady scents of Spring were in the air. What a wonderful day for an Easter Sunday! I thought, pausing to watch, to take it all in. Then, mysteriously, for the sky had been absolutely clear, a dark cloud rolled across the heavens, darkening the park. For a few moments the laughter of the children vanished, replaced by a strange, almost dreadful silence. Then, just as mysteriously, the cloud dissolved in a dazzling display of sunlight, and the day again was filled with magic and enchantment. The children resumed their laughter, while they, myself, and everyone else outdoor that day looked skyward to see-- What was it we saw? I can't say for certain, but can only hope. A beautiful ball of light appeared in the west and soared overhead in a golden display of silent movement. And was it my imagination (no one else seemed to hear!), or was it real, those deep, vibrant words I heard (or imagined): "This is my Beloved Son, in Whom I am well pleased."

Eric Toleman had always had a feeling of fear. But fear of what? He could never pin it down, or put a name to it. When he met and married Pam, the fear receded. It was still there, but greatly diminished. Pam had that effect on his life. Then he finished work early one evening, rode the elevator to their 40th floor apartment--and found Pam in bed with another man. Enraged, he leapt onto the bed and began choking the intruder. Someone--it must have been Pam--struck him on the back of his head with a hard, blunt object. He fell forward, crashing through the bedroom window. As he plummeted toward the street, Eric suddenly knew what he had always been afraid of: falling to his doom from a great height. 

Frustrated, Tani switched off the computer and sat staring into the depths of the blank monitor screen. All this is so new. I can seem to do nothing right. I think they will fire me because I am too slow. But I am just learning. This is not fair. They say I have no "green card" and that I have no say about anything. I am like a slave to them. What will become of me? She worked in a small, dingy office on the docks. As she raised her eyes to the grimy window overlooking the harbor an ancient-looking ship moved slowly past, headed toward open waters. Hope bloomed momentarily in Tani's chest. Maybe they will send me home. There is not much there in my small village--but it is much better than I have here! But then her boss came to the door, glared at her and pointed to the computer keyboard and growled, "Get back to work!" No, she thought, booting the computer. I think they will not send me home. I will not be that lucky. As the monitor screen flickered to life Tani looked again out the window. The old cargo ship was now but a mere speck on the horizon, well out into open waters--and, unlike her, free from the oppressive land.

The Cold War had been over for years, but there were plenty other bad things going on in the world. Fanatic terrorists could strike any time--and there didn't seem to be any way of stopping them. Nations in the Middle East and Asia were trying to develop nuclear weapons. The world was getting to be a super-tense place again--just like when he was a kid back in the 60's. But he wasn't sweating that so much. No, sir. The fallout shelter his dad built in the cellar some fifty years before was still there. He went down one day, knocked open the rusty old padlock, cleaned out the place and made it livable again, then restocked it. And, more and more often, he found himself going "down cellar" and locking himself in the shelter then sitting for hours toying with the shortwave radio, listening to static and sound from far-away places. The news grew grimmer and grimmer, and he knew he might well have to go into the shelter and lock himself in "for the duration" or until the world went up in exploding flames. He stocked the shelter with lots and lots of books--after all, there might come a time, and not before too long at that, when the radio, the television, and even the ubiquitous Internet all went kaput!--and books would be his only companions. He picked up the first book from the stack nearest his reclining chair; War and Peace, a nice long bulky novel. Locked securely in his fallout shelter in the depths of the cellar, he began to read. He felt quite comfortable with his book. The silence was wonderful. A pleasant thought drifted through his mind: I might just remain down cellar for the rest of my life!

Thomas hurried up the steps of the Jayroe Building on his way to a promising job interview--the first hopeful prospect he'd had in six months. His savings were almost gone; his unemployment benefits exhausted; his rent payment overdue. He was about two steps from being a homeless person. He saw a glove lying on the steps, started to rush past it, then, for some unknown reason, stopped and stooped down to pick it up. But the glove wouldn't budge. He tugged and tugged; it was as though someone had fixed the thing to the step with one of those super-glues. The glove was made of soft leather; it stretched but did not tear. Neither did it rip loose from the step. Thomas tugged harder and harder, to no avail. People stopped to gather round him and stare. He seemed not to notice. He was suddenly obsessed with trying to free the glove. That was the only thought in his mind, and it drove him on to greater exertions. After a while the people went away and left him alone. He was now perspiring heavily, still tugging at the glove. Finally he paused long enough to glance at his watch. It was 5:45 p.m.--already three hours too late for his interview. He had probably blown his last chance at a decent job. Somehow that didn't seem to mater. He returned to tugging at the stubborn glove. The only thing that did matter, now, was getting the damned thing loose . . . !

Oh, yes. I saw you last Tuesday night. We all knew he would be alone in the cabin. But it had to be you who came and smashed his head with the large rock. It was only a matter of time. Everyone hated him. Only why did it have to be you? Well, it was, and that's that. I was there myself to do it, but you--you beat me to it, spoiled my pleasure of braining him myself. No one hated him more than I and no one deserved the right to kill him more than I. You took away that right, and that I cannot forgive. So I shall watch and wait, then chose my moment well. You must pay for what you did. You won't even see me coming.