Today, I am not coming home, you might as well rent my space out. I’ve found a home in someone else, and I’m not sorry I left the way I did. You have a choice to forgive and let me love another. As of today, I am dead to you.
Klyn Akwarandu is a multifaceted writer. He writes screenplays, poetry, books, blogs, short stories and music. He is usually associated with his pen name, “KLYNIC.” You can read his books on Wattpad and follow his writing at klynic.blogspot.com.ng.
Finally I settled for the materials on hand. A creased and coffee-stained envelope opened face down. A hotel pen leaking onto my fingerprints. I wrote DEAR JOHI across the folds before running from the ward.
There was no room for N. Sometimes a relationship doesn’t get halfway through the alphabet.
JR Walsh writes in landlocked Idaho, but itsjrwalsh.com floats everywhere.
He closed the door behind him and looked over the room. A melancholic expression was drawn across his face.
It was curious how ordinary things had acquired very special meanings while they were together.
She was gone, but everything else stayed the same, a cruel reminder of their broken story.
José Jaime is from Spain and is studying at university.
Things you left behind when you moved out:
-coffee mugs (2), stained
-CDs (4), no cases
-shoes (1 pair), scuffed
-socks (5), all odd
-spider plant (1), lovingly watered
-cufflink (1), gift from me, remember?
-sweater (1), still smells like you
-heart (1), broken
Please call ASAP to arrange collection.
Hannah Whiteoak is a freelance writer and poet from Sheffield, UK. Read her stories or follow @hannahwhiteoak.
When I came home from work the bird wasn’t singing in its cage. There were no dishes in the sink. The toilet seat was down. The note, unread, still laid out on the bedside table. My husband, nowhere to be found.
Just as it’d been for the past three weeks.
Couri Johnson is currently enrolled in the NeoMFA. In her spare time she works as head of YSU’s literary magazine, Jenny, and alternates between stomach and back while laying on her couch.
One whiff of the cheap perfume at the door, she went ballistic.
“Gotta smell the same as when you left,” she declared, and chunked me out.
Tried to tell her cops contact odors a car-wash won’t erase. Funny, I was innocent, that time at least.
I moved into my pickup.
Gary Clifton, forty years a cop, has fiction pieces pending with over sixty venues. Retired, he has an M.S. from Abilene Christian University.
“What’s wrong?” asked my tattoo artist.
I took another swig from the bottle. “Ann left me.”
His bloodshot eyes said he knew the feeling. “Zita walked out on me,” he confessed.
I blinked, shared the bottle.
When I woke, I found a swirling, black ‘Z’ forever inscribed on my chest.
Alexis A. Hunter specializes in short stories and flash fiction. Thankfully, she types her imaginings out now instead of scribbling them in notebooks like she did as a child. To learn more about Alexis visit www.idreamagain.wordpress.com.
During his first week without her, Kaid blew through fifty dollars’ worth of Taco Bell and three wasted girls.
The second week, he ate his weight in Cheetos and spoke to no one.
The third week, however, he consumed nothing but realization and guilt, nursing a stomachache catalyzed by time.
Corinne currently resides in Ohio, where she refuses to get a “real job” and prefers to spend her time dancing in the street and giving free massages.
“Want to go out tonight?” Kevin asked.
“I’d rather stay in,” said Jack. “It’s been a rough week. I went to break-up dinners with different girls on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday.”
“I can see how that would be emotionally draining…”
“Emotionally? Heck no. But I’ve gained, like, seven pounds!”
What could I write?
How could I tell him not to call, that I was going away and no longer needed him like I had before. Every day since we’d met he’d brought something fresh and new into my life.
The truth! Yes, the truth.
No milk today, thank you.
This guest story was written by Louise C.