Fresh FIction Box Not To Miss
Tara Johnson | The Makings of a Hero
Author Guest / December 18, 2020

I had just finished a walking tour through Oxford, a city rife with memories of people like Shakespeare, C.S. Lewis, Tokien, William Tyndale and countless others. Ornate college buildings rose up on every side. People of all nationalities clogged the sidewalks as they scurried from store to store, their sacks bulging with brand name apparel and souvenirs. I had just passed “The Eagle and Child” pub and was admiring the spiraling cathedrals when a steady rain began to fall. I pulled out my umbrella when I saw him. A homeless man sat huddled under a blanket in the pouring rain. His shoulders were hunched. An open duffel bag rested near his knees. Its contents boasted a folded tarp, a few paltry coins and an empty soda can. Nothing else. As I passed his slight form, I heard his soft plea. “Could you spare a coin, me love?” I dug through my wallet and handed him a few pounds. His dirt-crusted fingers reached for the coins. “God bless ye.” “God bless you too.” I walked away but my heart twisted. The sights I wanted to see paled in comparison to the emaciated form sitting in the deluge. Whirling back, I walked up…

Cari Z | Exclusive Excerpt: HIS HOLIDAY CRUSH
Author Guest / December 18, 2020

Chapter Two Dominic Dinah’s Diner was the first place you saw coming into Edgewood, and the last place you passed leaving it. It was the unofficial hangout of the force, with good food that was fairly cheap, as long as you didn’t mind Dinah listening over your shoulder as calls came in over the radio. I was halfway through a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes when I got the call from dispatch with word of a car accident on Route Ten. No injuries, but the car was undriveable, from the sound of things, and the guy needed someone to come and pick him up. I sighed and put my fork down. I was the only person in the diner tonight other than Dinah and her husband Troy, who doubled as the line cook. It was just seven-thirty, but with this weather, nobody else was dumb enough to be out and about. As Edgewood’s officer on call until tomorrow morning, it meant that this and whatever any other unlucky soul or drunk dumbass decided to do in the next twelve hours was all on me. Dinah, a plump redhead in her sixties wearing a handmade gingham apron over her Metallica…