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.
Did we do January?
Let me think… Gosh, I don’t remember.
Me neither. We’d better make sure of February, yes?
No. I’m too tired tonight.
Always seems one of us is too tired. And February is a short month.
Yes, but at least this is a leap year. Goodnight, dear.
Mary Steer is a word nerd living west of Toronto, where she works and reworks stories from life and imagination. When she’s not writing, editing, or reading, she likes to dabble in physics (knitting) and chemistry (baking).
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.
Two teenagers were kissing on an escalator. An old lady stared with disapproval, but the lovebirds were paying no attention to anything around them.
When it was time to start walking again, she decided to warn them. “Be careful, two separate beds for you in hospital if you hurt yourself!”
Katya Duft is a translator, interpreter, and language teacher. She enjoys writing short stories, poetry, and her blog Tales from the Bus
We smuggled wine down to the moon-washed beach and kissed til we mirrored the stars. And fire spun on the heels of our wordless rage as our limbs danced towards a jagged shore.
In my dreams it’s always the same: I am here, and you are lost to the waves.
Elisa is a chronic procrastinator who lives to travel and finds beauty in the diversity of life. She thinks sloths are her spirit animal and would love to be the ruler of some obscure country one day.
He’d stood her up again.
He always broke his promises, and this time she was furious. No longer would she wait for him. He treated her as if she didn’t exist. She was finished!
Resolved in her decision, she pushed herself to her feet, and floated angrily through the wall.
Rebecca just started writing. More of her work can be found at eurasianflavour.wordpress.com or on her WritersCafe writing profile.
Our love story was awkward.
We were a nerd’s fantasy or a geek’s real-life-RPG.
But the way our fingers brushed on the calculator had more electricity than Bella and her vampire boy, and the tears we cried when Dumbledore died were saltier than Romeo’s.
We weren’t fiction. We were real.
Emily Ramser grew up in the Sacramento’s gay district, or at least experienced puberty there, but later moved to the southern Bible belt to finish out high school. Rather than average society, she prefers to surround herself with furries, Baptist students and high school dropouts. Tweet her @ChickadeePoems.
He wants to choose a woman – not the other way around. But not being chosen infuriates him. One woman wants him, platonically. “She’s stringing me on,” says Paul.
He likes her but can’t stand her.
She can’t decide to leave the church. “She’s a nun,” adds Paul, “a great gal.”
Yveta Shanfeldová, born in Prague in 1957, is the author of two published poetry books: Night Jugular Shaft (Host, Brno, Czech Republic, 2006) and In Place of Sundays (MaPa, Brno, Czech Republic, 2008).
“I’m sick of being single.”
“Yeah, me too. It’s totally lame. It’s hard to do anything about it though, you know?”
“Well, this is kind of counter-intuitive, but apparently if we don’t want to be single anymore, we have to split.”
“Worth a try. Anything’s better than staying single-celled forever.”
“Eighty-six consecutive rejections. I give up.” He downed his scotch.
“Pessimist,” I scoffed.
“Just let me crawl down into my Deep Hole of Lonelitude.” His glass being already empty, he downed my scotch next.
Nearby, a withered, watery-eyed man in a wheelchair said, “Psh. Romance? Wouldn’t solve your problem, anyways.”
This story is based on a title suggested by Jeremy Quinn. It is a companion to his previous title suggestion, Unlikely Ascension.