I clutch the pink note in my sweaty hand.
My heart beats furiously.
The room smells like chalk.
“Welcome, Dads!” is written on a big blue banner.
The cruel children laugh at my shoes while I hand over the note.
It reads, “Dear Ms. Wheatley, Elena’s father died last year.”
This story was submitted by Elena Agnello.
Much to his chagrin, Tim discovered that several indispensable streams of life were converging at that precise moment. Unfortunately, they were not complementary. There was the possibility that he could endanger the enjoyment of one or the other.
Should he choose the honeymoon suite with the twenty-four hour sports channel?
Harv Thiessen, my soon-to-be uncle-in-law, wrote this story for me for my birthday. It’s playoff time in the NHL right now, so how am I going to be able to fully relax on my honeymoon unless I can watch the Canucks play!?
Overwhelmed with inexplicable love, she holds her newborn baby to her breast.
She nurtures her child with tender, loving care through the years, through all the joys and challenges.
Even into adulthood, she watches this beautiful life with amazement and wonder, thanking the Creator,
Until this mother’s heart stops beating.
Brenda Thiessen, along with her husband, Harv, lives in Port Colborne, Ontario, where she serves with Operation Mobilization Canada. They have four children – three girls and one boy – and will soon have a son-in-law (and a nephew-in-law: me!).
Even from beyond its flickering glow, we could feel the heat of the raging fire, harsh against our alabaster skin. We were drawn closer, forced forward by the spears that pierced us. Our flesh erupted, becoming golden and charred, just before we were shoved in between chocolate and graham crackers.
Maximillian White has been telling stories since he could speak, and writing – often legibly – for almost as long. Check out more of his work at elitefool.com and ridiculousity.net.
He also wrote Saving Daylight.
Her name was Marion: patience of Ms. Nightingale; sternness of a schoolteacher; the humanity of a friend. She delivered our baby at 4:55 AM.
Shift over, she slipped on her leather trousers and jacket, a pair of biker boots, and a bright red helmet. So incongruous: perhaps her own midwife crisis?
Lisa is an English teacher who enjoys writing, sewing and designing jewellery, sometimes all at once!
This week is going to look a little different from most weeks at 50WS. Instead of having one story from a guest writer and four from me, you’re going to be seeing five great stories sent in by readers.
The reason for doing a full guest week is that I’m getting married in 12 days, and life is a little… hectic, to say the least. I barely have time to think about writing more stories right now.
I’m not 100% sure what next week will look like yet, but I know that the stories you’ll be seeing this week are really good, even if I didn’t write them. :)
On another note, as you’ll see in the announcement area at the top of the page, I’ve dropped the prices on my book to $2.99 for the ebook and $9.99 for the print book from Lulu. Hit up the Store to see how you can grab a (now more affordable) copy for yourself!
Your face at the window said it all.
We got here as fast as we could. We stopped for lunch; we stopped too long.
I didn’t know depression could hit you so hard. The road was long, I stopped for a break.
Your face at the window said it all.
Marian lives in Scotland and loves it.
“Flip you for it,” he challenged.
“You’re on,” she assented.
“Heads,” he said.
“I’ll go tails.”
He did a twisting somersault-and-a-half, landing on his head.
She scoffed and triple-flipped backwards, coming to rest on her strong, poofy tail.
“You win,” he said. “Nice tail! Grow it yourself?”
“Nope. Plastic surgery.”
“My life is so mundane,” she complained.
“You’re right,” he agreed. “Maybe you need to spice things up a bit.”
“Yeah! I’m just missing that little ‘je ne sais caliente’!”
“A little ‘I don’t know hot’?”
“Yeah! Like a European boyfriend!”
“That almost makes sense,” he said. “But not quite.”
Critics and laymen shared exclamations of delight as they wandered in awe through the halls of Fallo’s gallery.
“The texture!” they said. “The movement! The tone! The pizzazz!”
Everyone wanted to know Fallo’s secret.
He told them, “My tools are my heart and my toothbrush,” and flashed a paint-stained smile.