Yesterday he took me to heaven.
Then he took me to the cleaners.
Strangest one-night stand ever.
“You want a beer?” I’d asked.
“No, I’m good.”
Yes, he was.
So was his accomplice.
All my valuables, gone… except for those I carried with me.
Only one of them was missing.
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana. She enjoys writing and thinking about writing.
It was a problem from day one. I’d never wanted a roommate, but simply couldn’t swing the apartment any other way.
I plumped the pillows and placed them precisely in their preferred positions on the pristine couch.
Then I huddled down in my bean bag and waited for the enemy.
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories and poetry and has never owned a bean bag.
I couldn’t take it any longer. The subtle shaking of the head, the constant belittling, the never-ending criticisms.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he squawked.
“Give me a break.”
Truth is, I was the one to blame.
I put the cover over his cage.
Peace at last…
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana. She enjoys writing poetry and short stories.
It started out small. Just a little white lie here and there. No real damage done, right? I could stop at any time.
“Grandma, I don’t feel well. I’m not coming over today.” I went shopping instead and found a beautiful navy suit.
I’ll wear it tomorrow to her funeral.
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories, and always tries to tell the truth.
My pumpkin pie sat on the table, untouched.
I’d followed the directions explicitly.
I properly preheated the oven.
I took great pains with the crust.
I’d anticipated delight, feigned or otherwise, once consumed. It was not meant to be.
“Bring a dessert,” they’d said.
Turns out everybody brought pumpkin pie.
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories, poetry, and the occasional song.
“Take one more step and I draw.”
Six years old, he carried a toy gun and barked commands at everyone within earshot. Most days, I ignored him. I really couldn’t blame him. At his age, I’d done the same thing.
I really should have listened. That bullet nearly hit me.
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana. She spends her days writing poetry, short stories, songs, and the occasional cartoon caption.
He carried me over the threshold. That, in itself, was not an easy task.
I should have loved him for that alone, but I always wanted more.
“You missed a spot.” I twirled the just-washed glass around in the sunlight.
He reached to take it, but I smiled. “Let me.”
Susan Gale Wickes hails from the Midwest. She likes writing and daydreaming about where it might lead.
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.
For years, rumors had swirled about the old mansion on the hilltop:
“No one ever comes out alive.”
Jessica ascended the stairs to her luxurious master suite. Yes, her dream home had been a real bargain. A steal, almost.
And she never trusted a rumor… Especially her own.
When she’s not busy spreading rumors, Susan Gale Wickes likes to write (and read) short stories.
Hezekiah was “soul” caretaker at the Mount Airy Cemetery. He liked to call himself “the keeper of the bones.”
While he prided himself in the lush, green grass and carefully groomed rows, it was the unmarked grave in Row 38 that had given him the greatest amount of personal satisfaction.
Susan Gale Wickes enjoys writing and daydreaming about where it might lead.