copyright Amy Reese
Gripping my young son’s hand, I hand the border guard the envelope, the colorful bills inside arranged like a rainbow of freedom. He peeks inside, then regards me for what seems like years. I start to sweat.
He leaves, with the precious envelope. That rainbow represents years of soul-numbing toil. I stare at the gate in front of us. I have dreamed about it so often.
Finally, he returns. “How many are with you?”
Slowly, he opens the envelope and removes half the money. He hands it back to me and winks.
And we are free.
copyright Roger Bultot
Free to Park, Free to Die
“No parking? What does that even mean? It’s space, your Honor. Space. You can’t own or regulate that. You can’t own anything. Matter was free out in outer space for billions of years and suddenly we put a fence around it? Mine! Don’t touch! Bullshit.
“Of course I entered the yard. I took the vegetables—I made the fire. I’m free, you know. That’s my right. I’m sorry it spread but they didn’t own that house. It’s part of the universe.
“I’m sorry they died. Really. I’m not a monster. But they were free too. They were free to die.”