“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
We watched it together.
“How would you describe your marriage?” the detective asked his suspect.
You ask me the same question.
“I knew you would ask that.” Giving nothing away.
Just like the guy in the show, I’m keeping my thoughts to myself. I don’t want to spoil the ending.
Besides, David doesn’t know what the ending is yet. He’s just making it up as he goes along.
He carried me over the threshold. That, in itself, was not an easy task.
I should have loved him for that alone, but I always wanted more.
“You missed a spot.” I twirled the just-washed glass around in the sunlight.
He reached to take it, but I smiled. “Let me.”
Susan Gale Wickes hails from the Midwest. She likes writing and daydreaming about where it might lead.
Charlie and Mable hadn’t been on a date in years; their 32-year marriage felt lifeless. To rekindle things, Charlie called up a favorite restaurant from their youth.
“I’d like a reservation for 7:00 tonight for Mabel and Charlie Williamson.”
“Well, alright. Is this replacing the reservation Mable made for 6:00?”
Robert Russell is an English Education major at Black Hills State University.
I was working my way through the wedding checklist, making sure I had thought of, paid for, and arranged everything.
Cars, reception venue, meal, gifts. I’d cracked it. A job well done… and with days to spare!
Now I just needed to find someone to marry.
Jon is an aspiring writer from the North West of England, currently boring himself to tears working in local government. He is looking forward to getting wed himself in the next month, but fears his own checklist is never ending… You can read more of his ramblings on the new web presence he has finally gotten round to creating at writingsonthewall645.wordpress.com
I didn’t know what it meant—
my father washing dishes,
or carrying a heavy load
Dreaming of love
lit by candlelight
and roses, I didn’t see
that when my father told my mother,
“I’ll get that,”
he gave her sweet bouquets
gathered after work:
blanket flower, buttercup, honeysuckle.
Jennifer L. Freed usually writes poetry but likes the challenge of micro-fiction. She recently had a 100-word story, “The Lesser,” published in The Citron Review
. Her website is jfreed.weebly.com