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My Guardian Angel Doesn’t Protect Me

“Get the paddles!” I remembered falling. It was nice at first. The air rushing past me as the butterflies in my stomach multiplied with each passing second. “CLEAR!” Then, there was the screaming. Not from my mouth, but from the pedestrians below, scrambling to run away from the landing zone.

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Bound

Paul pulled the envelope out of his leather attaché case and settled into an uncomfortable chair behind a large writing desk. Late afternoon sun filtered in through the bay window but couldn’t defeat the dankness of the old house, nor the dreariness of his mood. Luckily, he had had the

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