Christmas without him isn’t Christmas.
Magicless snow falls, waiting to be played with, as twinkling lights adorn a room that somehow remains dark.
A beautiful dinner (that I have no appetite for) awaits. Family and friends surround me. But he’s gone. Happiness left when he did…
Maybe I should apologize.
Alyce Clark still believes in and hopes for peace.
I don’t know which haunts more: bombs exploding or the eerie silence that follows. The aftermath… Lives taken. Property destroyed. Devastation complete. Birds no longer grace the skies, their morning songs gone silent. The quiet of nothingness hovers as the dust settles upon the ruins. And rubble makes no sound.
Alyce Clark will continue to pray for peace.
So, this is what love feels like… increased heart rate, happiness, longing.
A rush that says you can have, do, be anything.
Passion. Hope. Excitement. Expectation.
Belief in the impossible. And now, it’s here- breathtakingly beautiful.
I smile at the girl in the mirror. Loving herself for the first time.
Alyce Clark enjoys reading and writing short stories. Her work has been published by 50-Word Stories and Friday Flash Fiction.
Hidden away in the old metal box were memories, smiles, and tears. Photos sprang to life. Prom. Senior trip. My college sweetheart. Former roommates. Friends now residing in Heaven. Dreams. Achieved and forgotten. An indescribable ache, followed by renewed hope. And maybe, just maybe, another run at those unachieved dreams.
Alyce Clark enjoys getting lost in short stories. Occasionally, she writes a few herself.
Three days, four hours, twenty minutes…
Two books (one science fiction, one fantasy).
Three crossword puzzles and an adult coloring book.
The house is clean.
I’ve rolled all my coins.
Remote control hastily picked up (and put back down): seven times.
Finally, a beep: power and wi-fi have been restored!
Alyce Clark enjoys getting lost in short stories. Occasionally, she writes a few herself.
“Fairies are real!” she insisted, with a five-year-old’s unwavering conviction.
“I’ve never seen them,” I said.
“Wait,” she said, exasperated, leaving the room.
She returned, triumphantly, handing me a blue pillow, covered in stars like it was sacred.
“Here, use this! I see them every night when I fall asleep.”
This story was written by Martha’s granddaughter. Alyce will always be grateful for the 95 years of joy Martha brought to the family. She always made everyone feel special and loved. Alyce will miss her.
Poverty’s chasing me. Getting closer all the time.
Bills due. Check spent. Emergency funds gone. Fridge’s close to empty.
Then something breaks. Again.
Doing without becomes second nature. Rolled coins, coupons, and the dollar store become tricks of the trade. Keeping poorness at bay. And I make it… this month.
Alyce Clark is adjusting to sheltering in place, practicing social distancing when shopping for essentials… and truly missing her grandmother.
I let the tears fall. Years in that house… So many memories. Pictures that hung on the wall my entire life. Gone. Emptied out; packed up; now just boxes. Granddad’s gone. Grandma’s in a nursing home. Just an address now.
Still this place holds me, locked deep within my soul.
Alyce Clark is adjusting to sheltering in place, practicing social distancing when shopping for essentials… and truly missing her grandmother.
Your heart gave out. Still can’t fully explain it, but my heart stopped working, too. Yours no longer beats; mine can love no other. One of us breathing; one of us not… And yet somehow, the results are the same: two hearts died that day. I remain single, yet taken.
Alyce Clark was so awed and inspired by the stories of others, she decided to write them for herself.
I fought the urge to wreck the place.
Tears streamed down my face, blurring the decorations I’d put up for Daddy. Presents taunted me from under the tree.
It’s late January now. There will be no welcome home from the hospital, no belated Christmas celebrations… Those gifts won’t be opened.
Alyce Clark was so awed and inspired by the stories of others, she decided to write them for herself.