Between sleep and wakefulness lies a moment of possibilities. She hovers there, feelings of desire and longing rekindled by dreams of him. Should she call? Risk rejection. Refrain? Always wonder.
Daylight seeping through a gap in the curtains brings reality with it. She remembers the heartbreak. Her phone stays untouched.
Bridget Scrannage lives near Bath with her husband. She’s the founder of an international online writing community with 120 members. See more at bridgetscrannage.wordpress.com.
Romeo smiled at Agnes and pointed to the wood pile. “See that! I bucked up those two cords in a single day. Just me and my double-bitted axe.”
But Agnes, who had a crush on his brother, just smiled and said, “We got gas heat now, don’t need no wood.”
V. Jane Schneeloch has been either writing or encouraging others to write for most of her life. Retired from teaching English at East Hartford High School, she has led writing workshops for youths, senior citizens, and incarcerated women. Her poems have been appeared in numerous journals. Her most recent collection, Turning Over Leaves, was published by Antrim House in 2015, and her chapbook, Climbing to the Moon: Poems Inspired by the Art of Georgia O’Keeffe, was published in 2009 by Finishing Line Press. Her plays In Hiding and The Test were produced at the Drama Studio. She lives in Springfield, Massachusetts, where she continues to be inspired by her walks in Forest Park. See more at vejane.com.
Without costume or painted face, he played the clown. He became the one who made her smile, while she became the world.
It was cold the day they married, but the biting wind brought consolation, helping to freeze his own smile in place as he read his best man speech.
Anna Sanderson is a writer and performer from Nottingham, England. She writes about the world as she sees it, hoping to make a small, positive change, one word at a time. She has been published online and in numerous zines and anthologies, and is currently working on her first novel. Follow her on Twitter.
She smiled at me, an innocent upturn of her lips. I never saw the noose tightening around my neck.
She called me her little butterfly. I never thought she’d clip my wings.
She said she loved me. It was a love that strangled.
But she didn’t know desperation could kill.
Jenora Vaswani is a cat-lover, aspiring writer, and someone who just really likes cookies. She spends her time cuddling her two little balls of fluff who think (mistakenly!) that they’re in charge.
“Wait!” bellows Thunder across the black landscape.
In a flash, Lightning returns. Deaf and beautiful, a moment of devastation; then darkness.
A low groan echoes in pursuit. Fat tears fall. Intense light crackles as Lightning dances.
Thunder howls through the skies, rumbling serenades to Lightning. “Wait…”
Gina Lyle is a Scottish and English Literature student in Edinburgh, currently enjoying a creative writing course and all the culture of the city.
I held her delicate hand while listening to the faint sniffling in the room. I watched doctors come and go as her breathing gradually slowed.
I’d never known her well.
Suddenly, she whispered, “Desk,” and slowly slipped away.
Later, sitting at the desk, I read the words, “I love you.”
Morgan Wehner is a thirteen-year-old girl who likes to read and write, play sports, and eat.
She sought out the blue dot, his blue dot, which was sometimes accompanied by the word “mobile.”
She developed a nervous tic, always reaching for her phone.
Perhaps he looked for the reassurance of her blue dot, too. But probably not.
She knew this, and she tried not to care.
Sarah Vernetti is a freelance writer from Las Vegas, Nevada.
Fabio stands by the punch bowl, the loud bass pounding in his ears. Lillian is on the other side of the room laughing loudly at Sebastian’s jokes. His heart twists with sadness. She will never notice him.
A silent tear slips down his cheek into the punch. Now it’s salty.
Jessica Larsen has been teaching Language Arts to middle school students for eight years. She met her husband while waiting in line at the post office. In her spare time, she loves to write stories, run, and go to movies by herself.
You turn away; my lips brush your hair. It’s like reaching for the moon and falling into its watery reflection instead.
You sneer; your songs become grumbles.
See the full moon rising? It’s your face: my fingers touch you, and I am turned upside-down in the water: I’m waiting; drowning.
Rachel Rose Teferet enjoys designing websites, creative writing, and goat herding. Her website is lettersandfeathers.wordpress.com.