Trick Play

"Ooh, a street magician. Let's watch!"

Bill kept his sigh to himself, not wanting to disappoint his date. Women always enjoyed vapid entertainments and he was used to indulging them. At least in the beginning.

"Sure."

This magician seemed to be of the most mundane sort, relying on rudimentary sleight of hand and clumsy misdirection. Bill had seen all these tricks on YouTube and delighted in calling out the techniques to the onlookers and ruining the illusion. Sheila dragged him away with an embarrassed apology.

It wasn't until the waitress brought the check that Bill realized his wallet had disappeared.

Mean To Say

Dave has a long apology worked out in his head. All the ways he knows he's been a lousy boyfriend. Too focused on what he wants, not willing to compromise or, even worse, listen to Samantha's side. His inability to show empathy and instead trying to solve every one of her problems the way he'd go about it. Most importantly, just saying that he's sorry.

By the time he works up the courage to put his thoughts into actual words, Samantha has already left him alone in the café. Her last words were, "I never want to see you again."

I Alone

Jim, Clark, Alex, and myself lined up before the principal like toy soldiers. We'd grumbled the whole way here, lamenting Grace Johnson's unforgivable sin of tattling. I could tell for the others the complaints masked an underlying horror of what punishments might await. They'd never been in real trouble and us regulars liked to tell stories to bolster our bonafides.

Dr. Wilson lectured us for a few minutes before demanding a confession and apology. I don't know what bravado took hold of me, but I stepped forward.

"I alone threw mud at those girls."

The others nearly cried in relief.

Out Of Time

Christopher ran as fast as possible to the station. Typical, leaving it to the last minute.

He kept hoping Brian would say something first. Even if it wasn't I'm sorry, the simple act of reaching out would have encouraged Christopher to admit the accusations had been out of line. He can't help his sensitive heart, and sometimes Brian was the victim.

Now Brian is on the train to Boston. Now Brian is marrying the ex he'd left for Christopher. Now Brian is dead.

The apology will forever go unstated. He will forever be alone. Christopher has fallen out of time.

Anytime Anywhere

Dave and Heather sat in cafe and looked at their phones. There was a lot David wanted to say, but the place was crowded and he didn't want to be overheard.

He texted her instead.

I'm sorry.

For what?

Everything.

It's not an apology if you don't acknowledge what you did wrong.

Why'd she have to be so difficult?

I wasn't the one who broke her promise.

Still not an apology.

Heather set her phone on the table and looked out the window. Before the screenlock came on, David noticed she was looking at flight times.

So much for promises.

Underground

Gwen spotted us together in the subway. We were standing talking, and she walked up to us. She looked at me awkwardly fidgeting with her ring, while I stammered an apology. An apology for what; we just met by accident. Nothing happened, I promise.

“You two sure look like a cute couple,” she said, her voice full of self-pity.

Why won’t she listen?

“Busted,” you laughed; big joke.

“It’s not like that, we’re not back together,” I said, not after what you put me through last time.

No one believed me, not even myself; but it’s still not my fault.

From Guest Contributor David Rae

Listening To Punchdrunk Lovesick Singalong On Repeat

David waited at the red light. He scratched at his scalp as the skin peeled away.

Diane wrapped the glassware in last Sunday's edition of the Times. She remembered having to nag David for months before he wrote those thank you notes.

David cursed so that the driver next to him turned and offered a look. He stared straight ahead and debated offering an apology.

Diane loaded the last of the boxes into the trailer. Her father offered a hug that she refused.

David pulled into the driveway, turned off the ignition, and cried.

Diane watched the landscape blur by.

This is post number 1,111. Thank you to every one who has read one of these stories or contributed one of their own.

Pumpkin Face

Pumpkins. Melissa hated them. She also hated Halloween.

A classmate called her Pumpkin Face. She knew why. Her face being round, like a pumpkin.

She pretended it didn’t matter but it did. Deeply. She stayed long hours in her bedroom and cried.

Then, something unusual happened. The doorbell rang on Halloween Eve. The name-caller and his parents stood at the front door. Melissa was summoned. She obliged.

The boy apologized for being mean. He handed a decorated bag of candy and wished Melissa a happy Halloween.

The young girl told her parents she could hardly wait to go out Trick-or-Treating.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.

Waves

He phoned to tell me I hadn’t returned his wave yesterday. Wondered why.

I apologized, explained how busy I was. Being in a hurry, mind on other things. When absorbed with a book, I would walk with my head down. (Hadn’t he noticed?) Feel its characters as they stride with me. My physical surroundings matter not.

There were other days too, he said.

It wasn’t my intention to appear unfriendly. I promised I’d lift my head more and make a point of looking out for my neighbor.

Days later, I saw him running across the street.

I waved.

He didn’t.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, and espresso stories.

The Agony Of Farmland

Ellie drove while I fiddled with the radio. Neither of us spoke. It had been that way for an hour now. I wasn't angry like before and I was hoping she'd apologize so I could say it was okay. But then she'd sigh in that petulant way and my anger would resurface. There was no way I'd be the first to give in again.

The silence stretched on as the highway grew flatter and the forests were replaced by farmland. She'd better apologize before we reached my parents'. They'd probably side with her like they've done with all my exes.