Overhead puffy white clouds drifted through the azure sky while aquamarine waves frothed on the shore. On the horizon, the last wisps of morning fog faded.

  I stood quietly for a minute, gazing at the mesmerizing scene, content to drink in her graceful undulating motion.

  A gusty breeze woke me from my reverie. I hurried along the pier and approached her from behind.

  “Alana?”

  She turned her head, but her smile faded when she realized it was me.

  “Alexander?” She froze.

  For my part, as always happened when we met, I fell completely under her spell.

  I sprang toward her, reaching out to put my arms around her, but she put her arms up and held me back.

  “I thought you were dead!” she exclaimed, revealing an emotional cocktail of confusion and dismay.

  I had hoped her first reaction upon seeing me would be to throw her arms around me, but I would have understood a furious rant about how I had left her in limbo. What I wasn’t prepared for was the icy stare she delivered.

  Her voice was just as cold.

  “I’ve had no word from you for months.”

  “That wasn’t my choice,” I said contritely. I searched for words to soothe her. “I’ve thought of you constantly since we parted.”

  We both stood frozen, letting the seconds tick by in slow motion—my eyes pleading for understanding and forgiveness—her face a frigid uncompromising mask.

  Finally, Alana broke the tension. She stepped back and cast an approving eye over my newly tailored and sharply pressed uniform. Relenting a little, she gave me a weak smile.

  “I’ve always found you so handsome in your uniform,” she said. Her smile grew, and her eyes became deep blue pools of charm.

  “I know that look,” I said.

  “Oh?” she murmured.

  “What’s this strange magic you possess over men?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” she asked innocently, pursing her sexy pouty lips.

  I laughed out loud at the pose.

  “Men like think they’re an unsolvable puzzle, but I always find the solution, sooner or later,” she said confidently.

  “And then what?” I was genuinely interested.

  “Why, then, I move on to someone more challenging.”

  “Is that your plan for me?” I reached toward her.

  She pulled back several steps.

  “Alex, you might as well know right now,” she said as her cheeks flushed a ruby red. “I’m getting married.”

  “Married!” Stunned, I asked, “To whom?”

  “Victor,” she said with a firm finality that was meant as a warning.

  I grit my teeth.

  Seeing my opposition, she reaffirmed, “I’m expecting him here any minute now.”

  In the silence that followed, I couldn’t take his eyes off Alana, though she never looked at me. She seemed to be searching the marina for a sign of her fiancée.

  Finally, she touched my arm. Her anxious eyes searched my face. “Alex, don’t look at me that way. You’re the one who was always leaving, facing unimaginable dangers for who knows how long, leaving me behind. I’ve had to make my own life without you.”

  “I know I was gone a long time, but I had no choice. And I came back. I’ll always come back.”

  Then, I added, “I want you to stop seeing Victor.”

  “I can’t. You have no right to ask that of me. I won’t.”

  “But nothing’s settled? Have you set a date for a wedding? I asked anxiously. “Not yet?”

  “No,” she said.

  But then she hedged. “Nothing is definite, but we have agreed to make arrangements soon.”

  “Then I still have my chance. I only have a two-day pass. Will you wait until after I finish my deployment?” I pleaded.

  “Can you offer me something more to hope for?”

  I winced, studying her face. She was pleading too.

  “How can I? There’s a war. Everything is uncertain. Please wait until I have something more to offer,” I argued, taking her hand.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re too late. I won’t change my mind.” She pulled away again.

  She said, “I understand your desire and passion for me, but that’s not enough for a lifetime commitment. I need stability, not a series of visits from an occasional lover.”

  I just stood there like a lump of clay.

  “I going to marry Victor.”

  The finality of the statement struck me like a physical blow. I grasped her arm and, without meaning to, squeezed.

  “Don’t, Alex, you’re hurting me,” she said, wrenching her arm away. “I’ve made my decision.”

  “Why? Why are you marrying Victor?”

  “I love him.”

  “No. You don’t—you love me.” I was certain of this.

  “I did once,” she said, caressing my cheek. “But I’m terribly sentimental. I fall in love too quickly.”

  She turned her back to me. “I can’t live half a life. You’re gone more than you’re here. I want someone who will come home every day, put his arms around me. I don’t want an absent lover or dead hero.”

  I said, “I don’t want to be absent, dead, or otherwise. I want to be the man who loves you.” I hesitated before adding, “But there’s a war. An enemy is killing our people—you, me, all of us.”

  She reached out and pushed a lock of hair off my brow. “Why must you be so fierce? War has made you self-sacrificing and noble.”

  “I don’t revere war. But it’s necessary to fight when we are attacked. It’s not a choice. It’s a necessity.”

  She looked troubled. “I can’t live with always wondering where you are, if you’re still fighting, risking your life, or perhaps already a dead hero.”

  “Everyone can find the courage to be heroic—when their loved ones are threatened.” I paused. “I’m not a hero, but I see heroes daily on the battlefield. They fight and die because they believe they must protect their loved ones. I believe that too. I’ve got a job to do, and I won’t shirk it.”

  “Is that what you’re fighting for? Other people?”

  I touched her. “I’m fighting for you, our home, and our people.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes and fell slowly down her cheeks.

  EEERRRRR!!!

  Far-off air raid sirens began to wail.

  “Hear that,” I said. “That’s the first time they have dared to strike this far west. Nowhere is safe unless some are willing to fight.”

  She looked into the sky and said, “They have no shame sending cruise missiles and drones to attack civilians.”

  I said, “It’s not just the two of us. This war is not a choice. It comes from a ruthless enemy.” I shut my eyes and added, “I wish I could walk away and let this war be someone else’s burden. Let others fight for us. But I have a part to. I can’t think of just myself or even you.”

  She began to cry.

  “Then leave, Alex. Go! But don’t look back because you won’t find me.”

  She wiped her tears away. “I’ve had my romantic notions, and you were part of them. But not anymore. I don’t regret loving you, but I can’t continue loving you.”

  “I’ll go,” I said, “but I won’t give up.”

  Alana reached up and once more brushed a lock of hair off my forehead. “Don’t look so sad, Alex. Not everyone gets their heart’s desire.”

  She drew a deep breath and said, “I must be practical.”

  Then, she shrugged as if she were slipping a coat off her shoulders. “Victor will be a good husband. I can be happy with him.”

  I stood paralyzed.

  She said, “Alex, you have to leave.”

  Then, she added more forcibly, “Go! Do your duty! Forget me.”

  Her words stung. I said, “Alana . . ..”

  Her heart softened. She gave me a tiny smile and kissed me on the lips.

  She turned away and said, “Goodbye, Alex.”

  I whispered back, “Goodbye, my love.”

  But, as she walked away, I knew I would see her again. I couldn’t go on living without her.

  Time Off*

  by

  H. Peter Alesso

  (* Excerpt from Dark Genius)

  "The thrill of the slopes, the beauty of the Swiss mountains, and a race to the finish line. Lawrence finds himself in the midst of an exhilarating ski adventure with a familiar face by his side. As they speed down the mountain, the adrenaline rush of speed and control becomes addictive. But as the temperature drops and the snow falls faster, Lawrence realizes that the thrill of the slopes comes at a cost. The exhaustion and pain in his body begin to outweigh the excitement, and he's left wondering if the exhilaration was worth it. In this gripping story, the author captures the essence of the ski culture and the allure of danger that comes with it. Will Lawrence come out on top, or will the mountain conquer him?"

  ***

  The next morning, Lawrence gazed up at the impressive face of Mont Blanc. The chill air penetrated even his warm clothing. He resolutely tugged on his ski gloves, slung his MIT scarf around his neck, and hefted his freshly waxed skis to his shoulder—he was all set. Boots climbing across the snow, he headed for the gondola. He could see the tiny figures of skiers already skimming 7down the steep slopes above, and his pulse quickened.

  As the group shuffled toward the gondola, he nodded to several familiar faces, relieved to find neither Proust nor Maurice among them. He thought he’d seen Emma in line ahead of him and fidgeted through the whole ride, oblivious to the spectacular view that spread below him. When he reached the advanced level, he got off, pulled his goggles down, and stepped into his skis.

  He picked Emma out immediately, even under her goggles and sporty ski hat.

  “Hi,” he said with a big smile, glad they both had the morning free from meetings.

  “Hi,” she replied, moving to his side in one smooth fluid push.

  Several others said, “Hello.”

  He returned a nod and pulled his jacket tightly around him against the chill air.

  A veteran skier strolled past with weathered skin and disrupted hair. He wore a turned-down smirk that challenged all comers to prove their worth. These were all experienced skiers, dressed for warmth, and equipped with the best quality gear. The first pair left together, plunging down onto the black runs. Others quickly followed, separated enough to avoid interference.

  Finally, he and Emma were the only ones on the top of the world. They felt as though they had the mountain all to themselves.

  Lawrence breathed in the crisp Swiss mountain air. It felt different somehow—cleaner, freer, better.

  The temperature was 5 C.

  He said, “Wow, what a fantastic day! This is an amazing resort, and the snow looks perfect.”

  “Something tells me I’m going to like this place.”

  “Me too.”

  Emma tugged on his scarf, and with mischief in her eyes, dared him, “Race you to the bottom.”

  He started to ask, “What do I get if I win?” when he realized she was already ten yards ahead.

  Though not an expert, he was a good skier. He shoved his poles hard into the snow and leaned forward, propelling himself down the slope after her. The skis hissed smoothly on the packed powder as he pulled himself along with his poles. Picking up speed on the gradually steepening slope, he was still falling behind. Going over the first vertical drop with spine-chilling ease, he found his rhythm and felt the adrenaline rush of speed, snow, and slope.

  Concentrating on his own maneuvering, he couldn’t watch Emma but could tell he still wasn’t gaining on her.

  He leaned over his skis, pulled up his poles, and dropped into a tuck. Instantly his speed increased, and his skis drifted a little farther apart than good style dictated. His hips and knees swiveled left–right–left–right–left in smooth, sweeping micro-turns, shoulders barely moving.

  Still, Emma held her lead ahead of him.

  A cluster of trees loomed ahead. He shifted his weight to come around, the right edges of his skis, biting hard into the slope and swung past them cleanly. He straightened up and turned to avoid several rocky obstacles. He maneuvered through a series of flags on the run, carving an extended S in the snow. He was close behind Emma now and could see her looking back at him, her face alive with pleasure.

  He was delighted.

  He aimed his skis straight down the slope again and felt the joy of zooming down a 45-degree drop. The thrill of speed and mastery of the terrain far outweighed any concern of potential danger. As he followed the curve of the mountain to the left, he came upon another row of flags, black and red, fluttering in the wind. The slope suddenly rose up under him, his knees compressed, and at this speed, he felt the lift as he caught air. He gave a shout of pure glee.

  Emma was near, and she ran an S-turn through his track.

  The slope eased a bit, and he jammed his left pole into the snow for leverage, pushing his skis down hard. The snow sprayed out from the abrupt stop and hung, crystallized, for a moment in the still air as he looked across a shoulder of the mountain. It plunged down toward a grove of trees, black in the distance.

  Breathing hard, he glanced over his shoulder but couldn’t see Emma. A momentary concern flashed through his mind, but then he caught a glimpse of her through some trees to his left.

  He swung back downhill and zig-zagged through the mounds beneath the gondola cables, driving his poles in hard with each knee-pounding bump.

  With her more direct route, Emma was ahead of him again.

  He pushed harder, trying to catch up to her, his knees straining on each turn.

  Without warning, his right ski caught an edge. He flailed, struggling to regain control, skidded, and fell.

  Shaking himself off, he quickly regained his feet, gasping for breath, and wiped the snow off his face and goggles. He stamped his feet to make sure his bindings were still tight, then set off in pursuit of Emma once more. Gaining speed, he schussed across the undulating ground, his skis intertwining with Emma’s tracks.

  A row of bright-orange warning signs made him check his speed sharply. This run had taken him dangerously close to a ravine. Behind the crossed sticks he could see where the cliff dropped and didn’t stop to think how far down it went into nothingness.

  He carved another hard turn, angling his skis back toward the left, and raced for the tree line.

  Keep forward. Get your hands in front of you. Set shoulders downslope, keep knees, and hips loose.

  The wind buffeted him, a pounding wall of resistance against his increasing speed. The wild schuss was nearing an end.

  Pine and spruce trees rushed by him, blurring into an impenetrable wall. The sun glistened over the snow’s surface, a sharp stretch of rocks and ravines was marked by warning flags thrown into high relief. Dark shadows obscured the terrain, making the slopes more dangerous. He knew there were sheer drops on each flank of the run. He felt an absurd desire to kick off his skies and run. Instead, he kept his focus on the track ahead and ignored the folds in the landscape.

  Finally, he saw an opening through the trees that had hemmed him in. He veered more left and shot through it.

  As he straightened his course, Emma whizzed by him, so close that he felt a spray of snow.

  Is she really that good, or did she misjudge her position?

  Trees pressed against the uphill side as the run curved around the mountain’s flank, their branches brittle against the white cold of the sky. Lake Geneva, now spread out in a breathtaking panorama below them. The thermometer had dropped precipitously to -3 C, and flakes of snow began to prick Lawrence’s cheek.

  Speed seemed no longer possible against the cold resisting wind.

  As the slope leveled out to the end of the run, he saw Emma out of the corner of his eye, only a few yards and scant seconds behind him.

  He angled his skis to cross the finish line.

  As his momentum slowed, he suddenly felt exhausted.

  His head throbbed, and his muscles ached from a combination of exertion and dehydration. His joints ground and creaked. His fingers refused to release their grip on the poles. Every sense seemed to have turned against him, and he blinked hard, his breathing labored.

  With an effort, he pulled off his soaked gloves and unzipped his jacket, sweating heavily. Stabbing his poles into the ground, he groaned as he bent over to unlatch his skis. Luckily the bindings sprang open easily, and he straightened painfully.

  The snow was falling faster now. He hadn’t noticed before.

  He cradled his stiff hands to his chest like a drowning man trying to catch his breath. The bracing wind stung his cheeks, leaving a bittersweet icy red welt. He was spent.

  As he looked for Emma, he wondered . . .

  Did I win?

  Five Potatoes

  by

  H. Peter Alesso

  In "Five Potatoes", a young woman is trapped in her village during a devastating war that has left her isolated, hungry, and alone. With no relief in sight and dwindling supplies, she struggles to survive day by day, counting her meager food rations and desperately waiting for help to arrive. As she battles with her own physical and emotional limitations, she relives memories of her family and the life she once had before the war. But as the days pass and her situation becomes more dire, she must summon all her strength and willpower to keep going, even if it means sacrificing her last few potatoes to stay alive. This gripping and heart-wrenching tale of survival, loss, and hope explores the human spirit's resilience in the face of unspeakable hardship.

  ***

  Five, I thought with satisfaction as my bony finger touched the last scrawny potato.

  I’ll eat for five days.

  The smile on my dry lips only lasted for a moment because I recalled that the radio announced that relief couldn’t reach this village for at least two more weeks.

  Survival requires good decisions, but it was harder and harder to think clearly in my weakened condition.

  This disaster seemed to go on endlessly. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a real meal. Or a bath, for that matter.

  I almost laughed at the thought of a bath. Fortunately, I have gotten used to my own stench.

 

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