Love
Michael
When I was fifteen, I found the man my mother was having an affair with. He was a Radio broadcaster named Michael. Each night, I'd listen to their hushed conversations on the telephone line like a bedtime story. I had never heard my mother sound so stricken, so full of life. She doted on him, loved him deeply, all in secret. I had never thought of my mother as particularly passionate about anything, but she was passionate about Michael. It was some education, I guessed. Even as I watched her do mundane things, like lay around the house, or polish our glassware, or mend my father’s pants, she displayed all the signs of rapture and sadness: Slightly slumped shoulders, loose hands, downcast gaze. All movements I would try on alone in my room, only to find they were useless on me, who had nobody to tie them to.
By Marie Song5 years ago in Fiction
Enough Is Enough
I butchered the marigolds while weaving them into a garland for my daughter - Anju's wedding. Marigold garlands are my speciality. I was so good at this skill that I made them for my and everybody else's weddings. But for some reason, I was having a hard time making garlands for my daughter's most important milestone. My smart, beautiful lovely daughter was going to marry a guy eleven years older than her because she believed we - well, her father knew what was best for her. If it were up to me, I would have let her do what she wanted and what she was really good at - engineering in computer science. Her teacher at the school had said she had the potential to be a hotshot executive someday. And I knew Mrs. Banerjee - she was not one to boast idly. I looked around in the kitchen - there were signs everywhere of my daughter's tech skills - the smart home gadgets, the timer that sang 'You can bring me the food - mummy' in her voice instead of the shrill alarm. And most importantly, a male voice for Alexa - because she wanted to order around a male in the kitchen, much to her dad's chagrin.
By Anu Sundaram5 years ago in Fiction
Oh my god Jeffery
"I...what is... how has... what... what the hell is going on!?" I'm looking up at him, still covered in blood, but with no wounds to match. What can I even say? It's not something I can just explain as if he'll go "Oh ok, makes sense." This is, well, kind of serious. I pause for a moment, and without choosing my words too carefully say,
By Madeleine Taliai5 years ago in Fiction
Pop Rocks and Marigolds
The doctor exited the room, leaving the young couple alone. It was hot that day, and Eddie McCormick, a pockmarked boy with a tuft of greasy orange hair, slouched in his chair and wiped sweat from his forehead. He reached for the girl on the bed, his hand landing softly on the small bump of her stomach. She exhaled, her wet eyes falling to the vase of marigolds on the bedside table, their petals the color of the sunrise just as it crests above the horizon.
By Zachary James5 years ago in Fiction
Sour Whiskey
He didn’t drink whiskey, really. Mostly because he didn’t really drink but also since he didn’t really drink he really didn’t handle the taste and there’s not a taste much worse than whiskey. But he was at a bonfire and it seemed like the type of thing you’d drink at a bonfire and he romanticized things like this; getting the full effect. So, he sipped his whiskey, as cautiously as one possibly could and winced as inconspicuously as one could because he wanted to look cool in front of the girl. It wasn’t the girl he had a crush on and was trying to impress; it was his girlfriend.
By Peter Moran5 years ago in Fiction
Beyond
To the left, in the corner of her eye. She saw it again. That luminescent green light. It was always just a flicker in her peripheral vision, she couldn't quite catch it with her eye. This time however as she turned her head to glimpse at the light, it came into full view. It brightened, growing in intensity the longer she stared at it. The light, as vivid as the Aurora Borealis began to encompass her body. She felt peace, warmth, and a deep satisfaction in the core of her being. Soon, she became enveloped in the glow. And within minutes, she was gone.
By Megan Moreau5 years ago in Fiction
The Moon and The Sky
One night, years and years ago, the sky began swooning over the moon. The moon would dance with the stars all night long and she never noticed the sky falling deeper and more in love with her radiance as she would light up the night sky. The sky would spend hours watching the moon, wishing that she would notice him in all his vastness. For the sky, after all, held all the stars for the moon to dance with. The sky loved being the dance floor between the moon and her stars, however he was becoming ready to announce his love for the moon.
By Cynthia McConnell5 years ago in Fiction
Of White Roses and Marigolds
Her shoes had no traction. She had not many clothes. What she wore hung off her. No appetite anymore. Mauve lightening veined across the midnight sky never to touch the earth below. She watched and waited for a lightening strike to ignite the parched ground. Quietly hoping for a new reason for this haze. She would see none. It was the hour and time to go in.
By Sarah J Singer5 years ago in Fiction
First Date
I shook out my umbrella before heading into the restaurant and was very grateful when one of the staff offered to take it along with my coat. The rain had seemed to come from nowhere, but I always had my umbrella with me – best to be prepared. Under normal circumstances, my friends would have laughed at me, but this could be one of those times when I was proven right!
By Chris Cunliffe5 years ago in Fiction
