There must be 50 words to leave your lover.
Goodbye, see you later, don’t call, don’t text, don’t call or text again, it’s over, you cheated, I cheated, it’s not you it’s me, moving away, found someone online, with your brother or sister, with your best friend.
All recently used.
Denny E. Marshall has had art, poetry, and fiction published, including fiction in Night To Dawn April 2018. See more at dennymarshall.com.
The story of the week for May 7 to 11 is…
To the Grave by Melanie Cranenburgh
The morning after, I find myself putting chopped tomatoes in my omelette, the same way he did. He had them ready on our first visit and somehow it became our ritual.
I hate tomatoes. But I’m glad I never told him.
I’ll miss Grandpa’s stories. And his tomato omelettes, too.
Melissa Kelly is a poet and short story writer from Long Island, NY. You can see some of her work in WestWard Quarterly Magazine, Plum Tree Tavern, Soft Cartel, Amethyst Review, and Anti-Heroin Chic.
At dawn, Ronnie groaned. He picked up the new watch, his bargain from the market.
He smashed it against the wall. “The deal of the decade!” he exclaimed.
I pretended to be asleep, feeling guilty now. It had probably been a bit much to rewind it by four hours…
A former newspaper journalist, Ciaran Tierney is a digital storyteller and blogger based in Galway, Irealnd. He has a keen interest in Irish culture, music, politics, and travel, and is seeking new challenges in the digital age. Find him at ciarantierney.com.
The rule for any cougar is half your age, then add seven. Anything below this is unacceptable, and would you want to be known as a cradle robber?
I am 54, so under 35 is prohibited. Well that narrows it down a bit.
It also puts me in a predicament.
Vicky is a budding author, living in the remote, rural Irish landscape.
Knitting knitting knitting.
It grew. It grew. It shifted slightly just that way and became a caterpillar.
A fuzzy caterpillar.
It ate.
It slowed.
It wove.
It slept.
It slept straight through the pain, the breaking, the making, the knitting into a new life.
It emerged, for beauty.
For beauty.
Quite by chance, Plum Kennard has been around quite a while and is happy to be in this world. Her work reflects her delight in the magical moments of life, but also the grief & loss a long life brings.
Ping! Letterbox… Thwack! Liquidambar…
Matt an’ me were slingshootin’ in the front yard.
There was a shatterin’ of glass and crunchin’ of metal.
The newspaper reckoned the driver hit the light pole and died at the scene.
We argued over who shot the stone, then never spoke of it again.
Growing up, slingshooting was a fun pastime for Melanie until one day she may or may not have caused someone to receive a serious injury…
I write, “Don’t chase after him anymore. He’s shown he can’t handle the relationship you want.”
I forget the revelation and forgive. “Don’t be a victim,” I scold myself.
I fall asleep.
Facing the morning mirror, I say aloud, “He’ll be different today.
“He’ll apologize, and we can try again.”
T.R. Jordan wrote this story after staring in the mirror again.
I’m 67. I’ve decided it’s time to grow up.
I’ll no longer use my imagination
Run out into a rainstorm
Go skinny dipping
Laugh and sing songs with my friends
Build sand castles, play in the creek, or write stories.
Hmm… Maybe I’m not ready. Perhaps when I turn 68.
Paul Hock is an author, illustrator, and storyteller. See more of his writing at paulhock.com.
Late into the night, the child returned.
She slowly unclenched her fist.
There, in the palm of her little hand, lay a radiant star.
It was no bigger than when it had hovered in the sky.
But it was brighter now, as luminous as the glow intensifying on the horizon.
Author’s Note: For Sydnee, with love.
Bob Thurber is the author of “Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel” and two collections of stories. A celebrated master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in 60 anthologies, received dozens of awards, and been used in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts where, despite severe vision loss, he continues to write every day. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.