by Andrea Marcusa

When the deep freeze thawed, the woman, who’d been imprisoned for months in that dank basement, pushed through the splintered window frame cracked by the melting and refreezing of ice. How startled she must have been to feel snow sting her bare feet and the glare of the noonday sun strike her eyes as she ran across the yard toward the open road.

The owner of the dog that spotted the woman from the road would always be astonished by the miracle of timing that allowed his retriever, Sammy, to sense the woman’s fingers gripping the shards of window glass, and then strain on his leash towards her, for a better look. The man would forever remember it, how he was just about to jerk Sammy back when he heard that cry across the road. And, having pushed herself through that small opening, the way her foot prints left a bloody trail across the snowy yard, like most paths to freedom.

Andrea Marcusa’s literary fiction, essays and poetry have appeared in The Baltimore Review, River Styx, Epiphany, New South, and others. She’s received recognition from the writing competitions Glimmer Train, Third Coast, Ontario Review, Ruminate Magazine, and New Letters and been nominated for several Pushcart Prizes. Andrea divides her time between creating literary works and photographs and writing articles on medicine, technology, and education. To learn more visit: andreamarcusa.com.