Homecoming Surprise

Izzy rubbed her protruding stomach. It’d been months since she’d seen him, and soon he’d find out she was pregnant.

Sam was on his way home, the war ended. Izzy prepared his favorite meal, lamb with cut string beans and mashed potatoes. The aroma of cooked meat and vegetables filled the room.

The doorbell rang and Izzy hastened to answer it. There in the doorway stood Sam holding a bouquet of freshly cut flowers.

Sam stared at her stomach. “Izzy, are you?”

Before he could finish the sentence, she pulled him into a hug and screamed yes, the meal forgotten.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Cars And Cradles

The drive was rocky. Hanging out of the window of the car speeding past pine trees, barely clinging to the edge of a degrading dirt road, she felt free. Sitting on the edge of her seat, she stuck her hand out the window and played with the wind whipping past her fingers. Up and down up and down her hand went. As the road got rougher she tightened her seat belt, the last vestibule of safety in a spiraling series of events. She tucked herself in as if waiting for the kiss that never came, that hug that never happened.

From Guest Contributor Noah Bello

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.

Try Again

He buys a supermarket flower bouquet and, pecking her cheek, gives it to his wife in the kitchen. She throws it in the trash can after he goes to work the next morning. Again. He buys white roses from the subway exit vendor, and gives them, with a hug, to his wife in the living room. Into the trash can after he goes to work. Again. He gives a pink potted orchid, expectantly, to his wife in the dining room. The orchid sits on a bedroom table the next morning when the wife lies in bed with the trash collector.

From Guest Contributor Gerald Kamens

The Meaning Of Divorce: As Told By A Seven Year Old

My name is Caleb Jones. What does divorce mean? It means daddy doesn’t live here anymore. It means mommy and daddy used to fight, now daddy moved away. I don’t cry anymore. I can only see daddy on the weekends. Oh joy. My room seems grayer than I remember it being. My teddy bear, Howard, I hug him tighter than before.

Should I go out to play today?

No it’s raining, that’s ok I’ll read the book daddy bought me, last Christmas. It’s a good book. I read aloud. I can still smell daddy’s pipe as I read. Good night.

From Guest Contributor, Doug Robbins