It was her first blind date.
“Sit at the table near the window,” he’d said. “Wear yellow.”
Now, at the table near the window, she waited. Their eyes met briefly as he passed. She anticipated the cold rush of air, but the door never opened. She still felt the chill.
Susan Gale Wickes wrote this story. She rarely window shops and never wears yellow.
Mikey and I visited Grandma in the city.
“Look in the apartment across the street,” said Mikey. “They’re not wearing any clothes.”
I tried to shut him up, but he continued: “What are they doing?”
“You little snoop,” growled Grandma.
She reached into the drawer and handed Mikey her binoculars.
Since he retired in 2009, Harry Demarest has published in Fiftyworstories.com, Festival Writer, Compassion and Choices, and Gold Man Review.
I took my grandfather out for his birthday. Neither of us wanted to dine together, but since he was alone I insisted.
We don’t have much in common, but after some torturous small talk about weather, we were finally able to come together by treating our waitress like total scum.
Jean-Luc Bouchard is a writer whose short fiction has been previously featured in Umbrella Factory, Danse Macabre, and Eastlit.
First their eyes danced, glancing and winking. Then their feet danced, carrying them in intersecting paths. Next came the dance of voices: introductions, banter, flirtation.
He anticipated the dance of lips: she replied with the dance of the open palm.
Nursing wounded pride and cheek, he retreated, his rhythm lost.
This story was based on a title suggested by @Wolfgang_Cloud.