Your white veil is an impenetrable mist that I can’t get through.
Pastor: “The rings, please.”
I know your covered eyes are fastened on mine.
Louder. “The rings?”
I step forward, deliver the rings.
It’s not too late. Just give me a sign. Anything.
I step away. A coward’s destiny.
Lou is a retired archaeologist from the University of New Mexico.
“Awful man,” she muttered, kicking the encroaching brambles. “Beautiful woman,” he mused, as sunlight haloed her fair hair.
Every evening he’d toil, moving snails from her delicate beans and dahlias to his indestructible thicket.
She never wondered why her allotment flourished. Or who left the gifts of glorious blackberry jam.
Tamsin doesn’t have an allotment, and she has to be her own snail shepherd. Despite best efforts, her runner beans are still being severely chewed.
You were the tomboy next door. We played children’s games: raced, wrestled, bickered. One day, suddenly, you were grown up. Poised, complicated, spellbinding.
You left for the city. Texted me that you were in love.
I suppose we’d known each other too long and too well ever to be lovers.
Alex’s story is what it is.
She fiddled with her hair, nervous with her date. They shared a sundae, lavish with cream and a cherry.
“I like your outfit!” she blurted, blushing.
“Thanks.” He smiled.
Looking at his phone, he stood up.
“Sorry, it’s my girlfriend. Gotta go.”
The sundae was reduced to a floating cherry.
Nico Fontelo is an enthusiast in mixed martial arts. He also enjoys strawberry shortcakes and sweet tea.
Susa was beautiful. Videophone calls from London to Rio kept his love alive.
Now, outside the café where they met, he would surprise her when she arrived from the beach.
Her tanned body reflected in his sunglasses, as she nonchalantly brushed past to kiss Paulo, her husband, the café owner.
John B Sinclair is a much-travelled Scot who has now returned to Scotland, where he enjoys freelance writing on a variety of subjects.
My heart felt like it was being ripped to shreds, over and over.
I could only read his lips from that distance but I knew what he was saying.
I love you, he said. Her smile said the same.
I wanted to turn it off. I couldn’t. Instead, I stared.
Katie studied screenwriting and fiction writing in college and hopes to one day pursue her MFA in creative writing. She currently guest blogs for Grads.Co.UK and runs a travel business. Her work has or will be appearing in Bewildering Stories, Down in the Dirt and Prospective Journal. She currently lives in North Carolina. You can find her blog here: http://writingandwanderlust.wordpress.com/
He’d stood her up again.
He always broke his promises, and this time she was furious. No longer would she wait for him. He treated her as if she didn’t exist. She was finished!
Resolved in her decision, she pushed herself to her feet, and floated angrily through the wall.
Rebecca just started writing. More of her work can be found at eurasianflavour.wordpress.com or on her WritersCafe writing profile.
“Only half a world away,” she mused. “He said he wants to see me.”
Ignoring every germ of doubt, barely even daring to breathe, she sat in the metallic cylinder that carried her through the skies to the place where he lived.
Twenty-four hours later, her phone refused to sing.
Deepa is a full-time writer who occasionally gets to write for herself.
She had a burning but unrequited love. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, so she transformed herself into a microorganism and crawled up his intestines.
She discovered some deep fried fig newtons in there, which intensified her affections.
She lived in his heart until he died.
Based on a title suggested by Dan Hingston via Facebook.