She knew he was there, waiting. She opened the door and there he stood, grinning sheepishly. She felt faint.
She took in that goofy grin, those deep dark eyes, that silly hat… She left the rest outside.
She had a thing for snowmen, but he was melting way too fast.
Pat Campbell is a retired Professor of Drama. She has been writing short stories for twenty-five years and is a published Haiku and Tanka poet. She loves the challenge of writing a complete story in just fifty words.
I opened my eyes when her hand left mine. She was running. Three useless steps and I stopped, feet in the soft sand.
Behind me, the packed sand widened with the ebbing tide, our footprints still there where we had moved together.
I closed my eyes again, savoring the dance.
Jim Hartsell is a retired educator, living on the southwest slope of House Mountain. He divides his time as he sees fit – writing, making music, learning how to be a grandparent.
Missing in action, believed killed, said the telegram.
Seven years later he’s here at my door, recovering from amnesia.
What do I do about the new husband? What do I do about the baby in the crib? And what about the man on the doorstep I promised to love forever?
Carol Browne first appeared on the planet in 1954. She regards Crewe, Cheshire, as her home town and graduated from Nottingham University in 1976 with an honours degree in English Language and Literature. Now living in the Cambridgeshire countryside with her cockatiel, Sparky, when she’s not writing fiction, Carol spends her time as a housekeeper, proofreader, and ghost writer in order to pay the bills.
You tuck in the quilt again. She frowns, her eyes remaining shut.
You kiss her forehead. She’s still warmer than she should be. You know it’s just a cold, but…
Her eyes open. “Daddy, don’t have to stay. Don’t want you to get sick…”
Forcing a smile, you stay anyway.
Joey tries to write a little. You can find him and abuse him at joeytoey.com.
Fred desperately wanted to impress Carla. He thought about lassoing the moon or catching a shooting star, but those things had already been done. He needed something new, something unique.
In the end he decided to simply be himself, and that idea was novel enough to win Carla’s heart forever.
Daniel Slaten wrote this story.
There is one woman left in the world, and I love her.
I watch from afar, fearful of what might happen should we touch.
Sometimes she cries, yearns for me. I’m too selfish to offer my hand.
My arm aches from the scythe, but it weighs less than my heart.
Guy takes inspiration from love, life and the drunk strangers he meets on his way home. This is his third fifty word story.
Today marks the anniversary of the day I lost her. Her smile could electrify a room. Her laugh could wash all troubles away.
I kept her close, but not hidden. That was my mistake.
She was everything to me. Now she is everything to someone else.
My world wilts slowly.
Bethany Lindquist wrote this story.
Late September lent him, but July took him back.
Perhaps it’s why that time of year is called fall. Lonely lovers look for partners, blinded slightly by the blackening hours, chilled by the frigid mist of morning and the eerie evenings, falling quietly into leaves, into laps, and into love.
Shel Joey Sensing enjoys writing, art, and fashion. She hopes to graduate from Bryn Mawr College in 2016.
Cold, lonely air pressed the blanket to me. Toes curled, uncurled, and pumped poor circulation; joints snapped and popped.
She, warm in her own room, recounted new romance to a blog.
And if, with honest certainty, you knew you did not miss her, why would you pull your blanket tighter?
A journalism major with a creative writing minor, Alice loves linguistics, ukuleles, and long talks about humanity’s place in reality with relation to God, the universe, and the greater cosmos as a whole.
The fireworks boomed in the background as I stood. “It just isn’t working, Jason,” I said, hanging my head.
“Please, Sara. I’m begging you,” he said, rising to take my hand.
I watched the glory trail of light left by the explosive display. Our love had burned bright.
“Goodbye, Jason.”
Rachel Parker-Stephen wrote this story.