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He stands on the doorstep, hand raised. His fingers points to the doorbell accusingly. He checks his watch, counts down time briefly, and decides that he has to ring the doorbell.

It's easy. He's done it enough times. Except tonight, there's a millimeter-thin force-field preventing his finger from(more)
I'm fairly sure that when we made this decision, we made the wrong one. "What do you mean?"

I mean I would be happier if we hadn't stayed together. "I've never done anything to hurt you!"
Photographs, lined up on the kitchen counter. Stuck with food-shaped magnets to the fridge, covering walls and scrapbooks. Full of smiling faces and laughter.

This house smells musty, and I tell you. You laugh weakly, point around, and say that it's the memories rotting. I have the strangest(more)
That awful word. That awful, awful word. That one you keep repeating. You use it to describe your affection for butterflies, fried chicken, and rainy-park-days. Occasionally you yell it at me in the middle of a tense fight.
All my life, I've never been able to decide. An opportunity came up, and I took it. Another opportunity came up, and I took that one. Pretty soon I was twenty-three, with four serious relationships and eight opportunities behind me. Each one better than the last.
It sits there on the counter, alone. It was a mistake, absolutely. There is a twin next to it, looking just as fake as it, but the paper, the signatures are more binding than the metal.

I can feel my hand getting sweaty in yours and I untangle(more)
Standing at the crosswalk, you held my hand. We watched and waited for the cars to go by. I asked you where we were going today. "There are many ways to go, my son," you said cryptically. You always talked like that, instead of just saying, "I don't know(more)
We were tiny. We must have been, because the whole family was together and that hadn't happened for about as long as I could remember. It was Christmastime, and the tree was all glitzed up with fake gold. Mother was reading us a story, a short one that probably(more)
I have the freedom to write here, right? Time out from my usual story-prose-iwasneververysure what to call it. This *is* a minimally social site, I've realized that. I do my best to think of something to write for the prompts, and I wanted to say thank you to all(more)
We sit down on the couch, curling close together. You press play and we make small talk as the opening runs. The smell of buttery popcorn fills the room.

Blood sprays across the big screen. Your arm loops around me and I chuckle. I move closer to your(more)
I lean against the kitchen counter, holding a steaming mug of coffee. I stare at the clock, watching the numbers tick away, counting down. I've already done all the dishes and cleaned most of the house, and now the waiting game begins.
"Come back inside, dear. The road isn't safe." I was miles away from the road and I pointed that out to you. "Come back inside, now!"

"Here babe. I know it isn't the best school, but it's easy to get to." Half an hour further was the best(more)
I stare at myself in the mirror. So many things have happened, in just a few days. I spoke at your funeral, just a ten-minute speech.

I think you would have been proud to hear it. You always said I have a poet's voice, a way of saying(more)
"Hey, uhm. Can we talk?" I tried not to bite my lip. It would give it off to you instantly that I was nervous. You tilted your head at me, curious, before saying, "Yeah. Anytime."

I shoved my cold hands in my pockets and followed you as you(more)
Your mom and your father and I sit on the floor, staring around emptily. Your sister stands in front of the vending machine, holding a twenty dollar bill for an hour or so. Finally, she returns, states that it doesn't take twenties.