He was lost in thought again. Someone took over his mind, someone with a heart able to enjoy every single moment as if everything was special.
He stared at her and she smiled back happily, unaware of her own uniqueness. That ignorance, he pondered, was also part of her beauty.
José Jaime is from Spain and is studying at university.
“Goodbye Patrick.” Cindy moved in for a half-hug and cheek-peck, but he held her until she pulled away.
Patrick fit bulging duffel bags into her rusty Mazda, shut the hatchback, then stepped away as she reversed and turned.
The car crunched down the gravel driveway, red taillights glowing in accusation.
Susan Wackerbarth is enjoying her foray into flash fiction so much that she may never go back to writing novels.
In the deadest hour of night, a tangerine-colored torrent arrives.
My girlfriend’s terrified; I drag her half-clothed from the blanket to shield her from the forest’s scathing flames. Wholeheartedly she clings to me, though I know only yesterday her eyes wandered.
Somewhere deep in my pocket, the matchbox shifts restlessly.
EO’s fairly certain that arson isn’t the way to a woman’s heart. It’s probably bacon or something. Unless she’s vegan. Then maybe it’s veggie bacon.
Our red eyes
Have a glass of wine
I love you…
words without conviction
Trace the floor
Of our room
My plea fails you
Our relationship fades
Our bond snaps
The door closes
Tossed between empty sheets
Why part 5?
Well heck I finally deleted you
from my phone,
from my conscious mind
and then you had the nerve to show up in a dream,
all friendly and conciliatory.
I leaned against your shoulder, into the feel of you.
Sure, we can be friends
Sweet (did you whisper back?)
Robin Lubatkin does circle time with the very young and what she calls “songhealing” with the very old.
The rooms were bare and cold, but if she squinted, she could almost see the life they’d planned. The baby, yawning and sucking. Him, sprawled on the sofa, the TV on. So much love she’d felt like bursting.
Where was it now?
She turned to leave; arms empty, heart full.
Laura Pearson is a writer of blog posts, novels and flash fiction. She lives in Leicestershire with her husband and two young children.
With the kind of longing that only comes with the fog of time, he began missing her today.
All the animosity gave way to bittersweet memories.
That’s when he realized that it had been neither love nor hate that killed their relationship. It was indifference.
He eyed his phone, briefly.
Maninder Chana is a critically acclaimed, award-winning writer and director based out of Toronto. He is also the author of a short story collection, Gunga Din Lite & Other Delights (of Lust and Comedy)
Dreams and reality sometimes ravel and blur in the longest hours of the night. That’s when I reach out and touch your arm, your back, your thigh, lightly, ever so lightly, so I don’t wake you. We’ve grown old and frail together, you and I. Now, constantly, we seek reassurance.
Alex lives in a suburb of the Big Apple.
An outdoor shower was an infatuation for Jennifer. She insisted on this feature at the cabin. The idea of showering naked outside was thrilling. It spoke of freedom, and other things missing in her life.
She never did disrobe. But she could.
If Charles kept acting this way, she would.
Bill Diamond is a writer living in Evergreen, Colorado. Recently, several of his initial stories have been published.
“Oh, he loves me,” she said, “in that vague, distant, save-the-whales sort of way.”
She stared off into the emptiness of the world, then sighed.
“Yes, he loves me. He tells me so, endlessly.”
She pulled her thoughts closer and waited for his words to ring true, just once more.
Anita Reynolds is a writer in the wilds of Tennessee, though it’s not too wild, unless you count the four children.