The face was there, but the rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes were absent, absconded along with ready smile and gleeful giggles, lost in memories.
She wore civvies, not the nun’s habit she had hiked up a little to play football with us as children.
The coffin also took her voice.
Perry McDaid is a writer of prose and poetry who has developed a taste for pastels. They’re a tad chalky but provide roughage.
When last I saw them, they were down by the river. They were holding hands. No surprise there; she’d always been possessive.
On this occasion, she seemed especially reluctant to let go. She professed to love his mind and body, while her rival’s interest was strictly physical…
The crocodile prevailed.
John H. Dromey has a 10-word story, “Paranormal Household Survey,” on the Potato Soup Journal website.
He turns off the flashlight. They’re in total darkness. Water laps against their boat. A drop of water lands on her head.
“It’s just a cave kiss,” he says.
She doesn’t like caves or boats. She does love this man. She closes her eyes and dreams she is the moon.
Candace Kubinec posts her stories at storydribbles.wordpress.com and her poetry at rhymeswithbug.com.
26 years old. That’s when my heart first met hers.
26 minutes in and I was already in love.
26 months later I broke her heart into a billion bits.
26 seconds. That’s how long it took her to leave.
26 years older and I’m still picking up the pieces.
Dylan Martin is a University at Albany alumnus who currently lives in the New York metropolitan area. His passion for fiction tends to gravitate towards the characters involved, and his writing tends to focus on the characters as well. See more at dm-writing.com.
Every morning, on the 8:04, I look for her face. Sometimes I see individual stars, but never the entire constellation.
This is her train.
The train that took her face and scattered her stars into the darkness around it.
All I want is to see her face one more time.
Laura Besley writes short fiction in the precious moments that her children are asleep. Her fiction has appeared online, in print and in various anthologies. She tweets at @laurabesley.
When I saw the twinkle in his eyes, I was his, forever more.
It took him only nine years to realize he felt the same about me.
Marriage; a son; joys and sorrows.
On our Silver Anniversary, I fall in love again whenever I see that twinkle in his eyes.
Irene is the Firefox Developer Content Manager. She spends her days writing content for web developers and her evenings and weekends writing very short stories.
I step in something cold, slimy on the kitchen tile.
Gelatin-encased golden suns. Crushed shells.
Gwen is slumped in the corner, rage melted.
I grease up a pan, ignite the burner, scoop up the ruined eggs with a spatula, and toss them into the spitting oil.
Then help her stand.
Tim Boiteau writes and lives near Detroit with his wife and son.
Michael really likes you,
Her parents insisted
When she was 20
I find him dull, she countered
You can’t be too particular, her father said
You have to think about what you have to offer.
Was it her extra pounds he meant?
Or her personality?
She wished she had asked
Miriam Stein is a social worker, writer, and the author of Make Your Voice Matter With Lawmakers: No Experience Necessary. See more at makeyourvoicematter.com. She lives in Massachusetts.
He loved her all his life. He waited, growing up knowing she was out there, even before he met and married her.
The sun settled behind the hills every day, but today had special meaning. He would be facing tomorrow alone for the first time. Now, she waited for him.
NT Franklin writes cozy mystery short stories, nostalgia short stories, and Flash Fiction and has been published in 50 Word Stories, Page & Spine, Scarlet Leaf Review, Fiction on the Web, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, 101 Words, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, and more.
Moments wasted in anger:
55 hours arguing over finances,
6 months “discussing” our exes,
8 weeks agreeing to disagree,
18 frosty Sunday breakfasts after you came in late,
3 weeks not speaking over small things,
1 year, 7 months detesting your illness.
Moments missing you:
24 hours, 7 days, always.
Jo Withers needs to remember to make every moment matter. She spends them writing shorts, poetry, and flash fiction from her home in South Australia. She is also author of the middle-grade adventure 5 Simple Steps to Saving Planet Earth. You can follow Jo on Twitter.