We were married within a month.
The first morning I woke with nausea, I felt rotten. The second: jubilation. Mere weeks had passed since we first made love, but I swore I could already feel a bump.
We laughed, kissed, hugged; fell asleep with bodies intertwined. Life was a dream.
Guy forgot to submit this story last month. This is his twentieth 50-word story.
Editor: See part 1 and part 2 of Guy’s ongoing story.
You fell in love with me at first sight. I loved you long before that.
We met at the corner shop: you were unshaven, hungover, your hair still wet from the shower.
I had rehearsed my opening lines, been planning my outfit for thirteen years.
You didn’t stand a chance.
Guy is still waiting for the fame and prosperity promised to him three years ago by a fortune cookie. This is his nineteenth 50-word story.
The day before my sixth birthday I sat on mother’s knee and stared into her crystal ball. She’d flinched at shadows that screamed and slammed doors, clutched my arm so hard her nails broke the skin. Among whirling smoke she saw broken skies, suffering, the End…
I only saw you.
Guy was once declared dead by a fortune-telling fish he found in a Christmas cracker. This is his eighteenth 50-word story.