Tag Archives: OneParagraph

Ten years from now

A tune that I remember. A flock of pigeons that we fed. The sheets that we last used together. They call you in my head. Shampoo – the soft hair on your skin. A pillow – your head, hard and warm against my shoulder. My bed – the angry eyes; the open mouth with which you screamed at me. I’m sorry. I hope you’re well. I hope you’re happy. I hope that, a year from now, or five, or ten, you can forget me. I hope that, ten years from now, you won’t hate me anymore.

They Laughed

The red cloth fell softly down her sides. I stepped closer. Grins drilled deep into my neck. I tapped on her shoulder. The white of her cheeks grew red. I asked for a dance. She glanced around. Laughter behind me. She bit her lip. Her eyes met mine. “Okay,” she said. Her skin felt warm and soft. My hand pulled hers towards the circle at the center of the room. She smiled. My hand gently on her waist. Hers on my shoulder. Blond hair swaying from side to side with every step. The laughter stopped.

It’s nice to see you again

I stood up when the doctor stepped into the room. “It’s nice to see you again,” he said. His hand was cold. He glanced at the gray clipboard. “When is your child due again?” I asked. He looked up. “Two months,” he said. I smiled. “So soon? I’d like to buy her a gift,” I said. “To thank you for all that you’ve done for me.” His hands sank. He looked past me. “That’s not necessary,” he said. “And it won’t be possible.”