She smiles like an old starlet when she spots me, hugs me with open arms. Claims I’m a godsend. “Really,” she gushes, “I prayed I might run into you.”

What’s odd: we’re largely strangers. The only time we ever talk? In passing on our morning walks. I know her first name and that she’s retired.

Today she unleashes a torrent of information, much of which, she confesses, “I never tell anyone this, but...” A husband who neglects and cheats on her. A mother who blames and hates her. A father who raped her. The madness of abuse, violence, murder.

Horrified yet fascinated, I listen. No advice, no words, I simply nod like a shrink. It’s what she needs and the best I can offer. We walk briskly, smile at times, laugh occasionally, connect.

blood-letting 
as a practice 
for illness 

heartbreak 
aching for a cure 

third party needed  

—Long-listed Finalist in MacQ’s Cheribun Challenge #4

Bio: Scott Wiggerman