Scans proved the bump was no fantasy. Cancer is such a dirty word.
I became the shadow from my mother’s visions. You became the man I always knew you were.
Our wedding was just a month away, but we didn’t need a crystal ball to know I wouldn’t make it.
This is Guy’s twenty first 50-word story, and the final part of the fortune-teller’s daughter series.
This series is dedicated to one of Guy’s closest friends, Sean, who is currently battling cancer. You can read more about Sean’s story here.
Editor: See part 1, part 2, and part 3 of Guy’s ongoing story.
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.