Mother in evening dress and mink hugs me. Chanel No. 5 and a hint of dead animal deliver separation.
Her hand stroking my face bestows Jergen’s lotion, a thread of connection as she closes the door.
Alone in bed, I stargaze and clutch Snoopy, whose fur smells only of me.
Beth keeps her Winnie-the-Pooh blanket in her safe deposit box next to a Confederate dollar bill. You can find her blog at www.sideglimpses.com.
Two souls waited to be born.
I will be a beautiful girl, said the first, born into wealth.
I will be a lonely boy, said the second, abused and abandoned.
But why? asked first.
Because I’ll learn more in my few years of hardship than in your lifetime of privilege.
Daniel Wilson lives in the foothills of North Carolina with his wife and children.
On a summer night in the bayou, I wade through dark, brackish water for a rendezvous with my angel. The calm, silent water reflects the moon like a looking glass. Shimmering and magnetic, she draws me toward her in the moonlight, beckoning me, like a child to a candy shop.
Ed Baswell is a 40-something writer originally from Asheville, North Carolina, now residing in Southern California. Primarily a trainer and curriculum developer in the aerospace industry, Ed is trying to hone his creative writing skills.
I hibernated through January.
Not one for excursions in the first place, I preferred not to move about at all except to keep my daily appointments in front of the TV.
I’m indifferent to the counsel of others who say, “Get over it.” I’m too busy being lonely without you.
Recently retired, Marian Brooks has begun to write some short fiction. Her work has appeared in Word Riot, The Linnet’s Wings, The Story Shack, Bleed Anthology and others.
Her eyes closed as her chest slowly fell. A tear fell from the corner of my eye.
Relief fell upon my shoulders, yet overwhelming sadness burdened my heart.
I, too, was lost for air. The liar, I thought.
You promised. You swore to me I could close my eyes first.
Adam Randall is a 22-year-old amateur writer. Other than that he’s not very interesting.
I visited the place of our first date. I stared at the back of a woman’s head, positive it was yours.
I remembered the back of your head well. I missed it.
She turned. It was you, and not. My image of you was different from the real you.
Relief.
Chris Wilkensen is a wandering English instructor. He is trying to figure out what he wants in life, while being careful not to let life pass him by. He has trouble winning both battles simultaneously.
She was soft and white, changed and transformed. I felt joy as I held her in my arms, and cuddled her as I danced along the street. I anticipated the moment when I could caress her downy cheeks.
It was wonderful to take my clean duvet home from the cleaners.
Anne Lever is recently retired and is a mature student at ChristChurch University in Canterbury.
Elizabeth reclined comfortably beside the still waters of her estate’s emerald lake. Her children laughed playfully on the grassy embankment as she smiled broadly.
“Time’s up!”
Elizabeth took off the visuset and drew in a breath of dank, carcinogenic air. Five minutes for a month’s wages, but so worth it.
David R. Schulze is an EMT/Commercial Actor, because that’s a logical combination.
Body and hands moisturized, scented in every crevice, she waited patiently for the proclamation of his love, the long awaited proposal of marriage.
As he took delivery of the Prosecco from room service, his mobile vibrated next to her on the table and a text from “Sarah” read: “You’re late”.
Linda Casper hails from Yorkshire and, after a long career as a high school teacher, she has recently begun to write and publish many short stories, poems, and travel articles. Linda has a keen interest in gardening and is a judge for Yorkshire in Bloom.
Despite his impeccable references, bitter experience had taught him female nannies were the preferred choice.
He crossed to number thirteen and knocked. The woman’s smile never faltered when he said he was there about the newspaper ad.
“Come in, Mister Rumpelstiltskin.”
He smiled sweetly as the door closed behind him.
B. Lee Draper lives in northern Australia where she teaches children for money and writes stories for love.