When I saw the twinkle in his eyes, I was his, forever more.
It took him only nine years to realize he felt the same about me.
Marriage; a son; joys and sorrows.
On our Silver Anniversary, I fall in love again whenever I see that twinkle in his eyes.
Irene is the Firefox Developer Content Manager. She spends her days writing content for web developers and her evenings and weekends writing very short stories.
Rheumy eyes viewed the long orchard.
His treasured trees would outlive her, but deprived of care, they too would die.
He’d picked his trees, and her, for the fruit each would bear. He’d loathed her barrenness.
His acid tongue was silent now. For the first time in years, she smiled.
Christine Nedahl is a retired teacher from the Rhondda Valley, South Wales, now living with her husband in Arboleas in the Almanzora Valley, Spain. She enjoys writing about anything and everything, but flash fiction and poetry are currently favourites. She has been published in a number of anthologies and is a member of Writers Abroad. See more at christinenedahl.wordpress.com.
The honeymoon patch of sunlight grew darker, obscured by the thick tangle of unknowing surrounding us.
I looked up. She hummed silently. The song resonated in her eyes, as if seeing the work already done.
I followed her, also humming, and we worked together, feeling ourselves victors through the pain.
Every day Sasha tries to give his heart to his writing, and every day his cat, Sebald, snatches it up for himself. Find his words and cat pics on Instagram and Facebook at @sashaandsebald.
I woke long before dawn, shards of moonlight breaking through the faded curtains.
The hotel hadn’t changed much.
Now, twenty years later, I could still see him stretched out on the bed, with that mischievous, just-married look in his eyes.
I touched the urn on the nightstand. “Happy anniversary, dear.”
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana. In addition to writing poetry and short stories, she enjoys penning aphorisms and epigrams.
Carol had never understood Bob. A prominent attorney, he always crossed his t’s and dotted his i’s, but he couldn’t put down a toilet seat.
She filed a complaint; they settled out of court.
She said she simply wouldn’t stand for it anymore, so he agreed not to.
They’re still married.
Susan Gale Wickes lives in Indiana. This is her first story about a toilet seat.
“Those Browns!” said Mom, after Billy’s first visit. “They’re not smart. Short-lived, too.”
Both were true. But when my leg was in a cast, Billy carried me into the school. He blanketed everyone with kindness—warmth personified.
When the cancer got him, age 50, our children and I cried buckets.
Rita Stevens has been a teacher and newspaper writer in west Michigan. She writes every day—three novels and a stack of short stories so far.
For months the space next to me had been empty. Yet tonight, it was occupied by a stranger. My husband glared at him.
“How could you do this to me?” he whispered.
“Til death do us part,” I replied.
My husband glowered. His ghostly figure slowly disappeared into the darkness.
Patricia Santillan likes climbing up chairs because she is too short to reach the top cupboard. Because self-love is important to her, she loves hugging herself. Her most recent publications can be found in Leaves of Ink and Fairy Talez.
No one at the reception was more surprised they’d survived 25 years together than the couple themselves, Mr. and Mrs. Frank (“I should’ve married your sister. She had all the looks”) and Cindi (“And smarts enough not to marry you”) MacIntyre, except for maybe Fr. Steve (“One year, tops”) Rodriguez.
Tony Jasnowski teaches at Bellevue University and has been happily married for 33 years.
I can’t turn my back on you, even though we’re now strangers.
Once you were brave and clever. Your body gave me pleasure, comfort and delight.
Now your limbs tremble. Your mind wanders. The strong man is a lost boy.
In sickness and in health. Until death do us part.
Lucia Saja wrote this story.
She’d saved her wedding whiskey for a special occasion.
Not for her honeymoon.
Not for her 25th anniversary.
Not even for her 50th anniversary.
Now he was on his deathbed.
She reached into the cupboard, pulled out the bottle, and cracked it open. “To happiness,” she said, raising her glass.
Linda writes for both children and adults. She blogs at lindaschueler.com