Micah Park Biffle

   Gorgkick The Coward   Gorkick, the infamous writer of historical literature, walks down our muddied roads with his embellished belly. He walks as if he were a pig on two legs. His over sized mustache tickles his lower lip. Causing him to constantly wiggle his mouth from irritation. They say he grew it to help hide his hideous smile.   But I say he grows it to feel more like a man. For he is cowardly in his approach to the world before him. Sadly, he is our only hope of change and freedom. But his cowarding approval of himself leaves him wavering to the whim of our iron fist leader.   His eyes sink into his fat face like marbles pressed into fresh clay. They linger about our surroundings as we watch him walk. Investigating our village with little scrutiny as soldiers stand erect with weapons in hand. Following him like watch dogs, panting at the sight of our impoverished presence.   I follow carefully from a short distance. Keeping my pres...

The Gulags Reach     Sasha stands with a friend as she waits for her cousin to dismount the bus. Shoulder to shoulder her and her friend stand in the cold winter of Russia as it ensnares them. The sky is wide with blue but the streets are hugged in snow and busy bodies.   The bus arrives and Sasha grins widely with excitement. Her friends clasps to her arm as they share the energy of anticipation. A small crowd gathers around them as others wait with titillating excitement to receive their friends and family members.   People start to dismount and the crowd suddenly envelopes Sasha and her friend. It becomes difficult for them to see if her cousin has exited the bus. Sasha and her friend try to push through the crowd but they are met with resistance from other overly energetic bystanders. So they stay where they are bobbing up and down on their toes. Peering like meerkats  hoping to catch a glimpse of her cousin as she steps off the bus.   ...

Spared from Death  It was our last meal, I remember it well. It was the meal before everything changed. It was the meal  that tasted so sweet yet so bitter. I remember what it was to this day. It was rice, beans, and a packet of salt. We were given water that had run stale from sitting in horse troughs.  The air was cold that day, the fog was dense. The clouds were low and hovered with authority.  They were of a darkly color, as dark as rising smoke from burning tires. I remember Looking up at them as I ate my food in a huddled crowd of others, I remember they gave me an ominous feel.  But they also gave me comfort. Like a wet coat in the rain, it may not completely protect you from the rain, but it is better than not having it. As I was eating my food, I remember feeling an elderly man, probably fifty years older than me shivering wildly.  His eyes were dark, circled in depression and misery. His skin wrinkled like an old rag. His breath was sh...