Despite how tumultuous our relationship was
my expectations of her were the broken promises I made to myself.
Yet gone forever, I often find myself wishing
for just one more angry phone call, one more harsh word
because in the end one of us would always say I Love You.
Debra Pascarella wrote this story.
Archie entered the dark house, turned on the ballgame, and stretched out on the comfy couch for his nightly entertainment. After a long, grueling day at work, he relished this relaxing ritual. Who would dare bother him here?
When the game ended, he switched off the TV and headed home.
Lori Cramer writes prose of varying lengths, from Twitter fiction to novels. A fan of baseball, coffee, and dark chocolate, she lives in Pennsylvania. Find more at loricramerfiction.wordpress.com
Cinderella gazed awestruck as her fairy godmother turned the pumpkin into a gold and silver carriage. Two little mice became magnificent stallions. She gathered her skirts.
And as the footman, formerly a toad, helped her up the steps, she said “I just want to stay home and finish my book.”
Penny Jo McAllister is a freelance writer who enjoys books more than balls.
This morning, Sam left for good. Sarah’s mascara ran more than usual. Eventually, the gunk dried on her face like tea leaves in a cup. She tried to read the meanings but got frustrated and cried, ruining them.
No future is harder for a psychic to read than her own.
Carli Wright wrote this. She does a lot of stuff: films, music, photos, etc.
Never much of a worker, Joe was left an inheritance to last a lifetime.
Women all took advantage of his generosity, and he was happy to accommodate them.
When his will was read, his children were shocked: he died a pauper, leaving his children to wonder how it came about.
Pat St. Pierre is a freelance writer of adult and children’s fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. Her work has been published both online and in print. Some publications are: 50 Word Stories, Fiction 365, A Long Story Short, The Feathered Flounder, The Hearth, etc. She is also a freelance photographer whose photos have graced the covers and been included in: Gravel, Sediments, Pacific Poetry, Southern Women’s Review, Silver Boomer Books, Our Day’s Encounter, The Camel Saloon, etc. Her blog is pstpierre.wordpress.com.
The note on my door said I had passed away yesterday and my memorial service was tomorrow.
“What is going on?” I wondered. My neighbor had passed me without speaking.
I opened my door and the house smelled of roses. Everyone knew I loved roses.
I sat down and cried.
Linda’s dream is to do nothing but write but she has to eat so there goes the dream.
She stared out through the window, her eyes tracing and re-tracing the lines of the window pane, the branches of the trees outside, the curve of the mountains.
She knew she had to get up and make dinner, but she couldn’t escape the feeling that it wouldn’t make any difference.
Beth Buck’s work has been featured by Sukoon Magazine, Imperfect Fiction, and a couple of others. She lives in the Intermountain West with a bunch of noisy kids and a spinning wheel.
As a pack, my students hold the power. I walk a tightrope every second of every minute at school. One wrong move, one wrong word, and I lose it all. The balance between order and chaos is one child’s silent acquiescence.
They think they know it all…
Mercifully, they don’t.
Joan is an educator in Australia.
His hands nailed to the walls
His feet in cement
His soul behind bars
Two kids entangled
Dreams broken, now nightmares
She drinks tea and smiles
She contemplates
Her next delicious move
Currents cross the room
His silent thoughts whisper
Freedom
Virtue answers
She leaves
But he still loves her
Patrick Yu aspires to write. He realizes he tends to touch on the darker sides of things. Maybe that will change.
They cried when he passed. I didn’t see the point of it. He was where we all are going. So many trains, so many tracks, all heading to the same station. There is no conductor to punch our tickets or announce the stop. We travel alone and can’t get off.
Gordon Lysen resides at Sugar Point on Lake Manitoba. Retired from police work after some 27 years, Gordon co-authored the novel “A Deadly Blend of Souls” with his wife, Lisa. Writing and painting are Gordon’s relaxation methods when retirement becomes too stressful.