Just when Tabitha tired of dating, she met a Buddhist monk. He was perfect: sensual, serene, and cute as heck. And no ex-wives or step-kids to deal with.
But his constant cheerfulness finally got to her. She missed drama and the thrill of a good argument. The breakup was inevitable.
Debbie L. Miller writes from Brooklyn, New York where she writes in multiple genres. She won the 2017 Mona Schreiber Prize for Humorous Fiction and Nonfiction.
Day dawns like a drill sergeant barking orders. The tarnished door flap swings open, announcing breakfast: rubbery eggs on a tin plate and a heel of stale bread. The door clangs shut like a license plate dragging on pavement.
He crawls out of his cot. Another day at the monastery.
Debbie L. Miller is a Brooklyn, New York writer. She writes plays, monologues, short stories, micro fiction, and memoir.
My girlfriend’s face is frozen. She’s squeezing my hand like a vise grip. The screeching gets worse. Passengers press call buttons, while flight attendants buzz around like bees willy-nilly, hovering over them. I look out the window. White. Everywhere.
The screeching is deafening, and now blue smoke fills the cabin.
Debbie L. Miller writes from Brooklyn, New York, where she writes short stories, plays, monologues, personal essays, memoir, flash fiction, feature articles, and humor pieces.
She strokes the talisman as the wind howls. She kisses the rosary and climbs into the musty bed. Branches assault the battered house; rain pelts the bolted windows.
She dreams of icy lips.
The shadow beneath her bed shifts, stirs. A bony hand strokes her auburn hair. “Abigail,” he whispers.
Debbie L. Miller is a Brooklyn, New York writer. She writes short stories, plays, monologues, personal essays, memoir, flash fiction, features, and humor pieces.