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."

She's Already Made Up Her Mind

She's already made up her mind.

Howard doesn't see it. He tries bargaining, apologizing (without ever saying the words I'm sorry), pleading. When that fails, out come the threats, the fits of anger, the hints at suicide. He thinks about hitting her, because it's just so unfair, but he throws his phone agains the wall instead.

It's worse that she doesn't get angry at his anger. She's quiet. Resolute.

He tries convincing her he'll be better. But his apologies are just excuses. He still refuses to say he's sorry, wouldn't matter if he did.

She's already made up her mind.

For The Taking

“Men line up for me gingerly,” I told my friend.

“Lucky you,” she remarked. “Hasn’t happened for me in months. Last one was a real flop.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I consoled, suddenly aware of my insensitivity. “When you’re ready, I can send one or two over to you.”

She was stunned, telling me how she lacked the courage to date again.

“What I have to offer...well, they’re good looking and appealing in other ways.”

Silence prevailed. Then she spoke. “Seriously?”

“Absolutely. I can deliver my gingerbread men to you, or you can pick them up at my place.”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes, poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction.

Dear Amy

CONTEST SUBMISSION:

Here’s what happened: The huntsman burst in wielding a knife, and lunged at me! In my shock, I coughed up the Grandma. I said sorry, truly, and ran off, hoping to mend my ways. I wound up in a bar in NYC, drinking with humans who were all peace and harmony, until one of us bit one of them—justified! Then it was omg throw them out. Now I’m back in the woods, in the heart of temptation, where every guy and his girlfriend is noshing on Grandmas and Little Reds. How can I resist? What should I do?

Wolf

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Linda's stories and poems have appeared online in Outlook Springs, A Story in 100 Words, Star 82 Review, BOMBFIRE, Misfit Magazine, and others.

Delusion

As he nailed the boards over his windows one by one, each pounding of the hammer reinforced his decision. The world was about to die.

The sad part about reality is there can never been any ironclad certainty. Civilization was coming apart at the seams, an obvious fact if you just looked around. But people said he was crazy and chose to ignore all the warning signs.

He felt sorry for them. They had fallen under the mass delusion, and they would not be prepared for the end times. Perhaps his pity would be some solace as they all burned.

Reflex Action

The front page of the morning newspaper is carrying a photo of the xenophobic, misogynistic new President.

Suddenly I spit. Expectorant deluges the photo and page. It is an uncontrollable reflex action. I couldn’t suppress it. It’s not like I knew it was going to happen or had planned it.

The commuters in the subway car look at me in silence. I am embarrassed. I am also sorry for damaging a complete stranger’s newspaper.

It was when he raised his open newspaper to read it, the front page photo loomed in front of my face triggering this; a reflex action.

Her Note

The front door slammed.

Before leaving, she posted a note on its frame. Unlike the daily reminders she scribbled, this one was blank.

Her husband grasped at the sofa for comfort, nestling his body in her lingering perfume. Their terrier snuggled beside him.

His mind revisited their argument. Was he wrong to throw back insults at her?

When the doorknob turned, he looked up.

“I didn’t write you a note,” she said with her voice breaking.

“I noticed.”

For a while they sat together in silence watching the sunset.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

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.

Basic Behavior

All I could say to my mother as she stood haggard over the sunken sink and washed the dishes; rattled the stainless steel pots trying to make some type of noise to fill up space that the silence had long held ransom was, “I don’t mean to be sad.” I gripped at the air as I said the words; tried to catch eloquence and understanding in my palms. I wanted to give her a better answer, a better reason. I wanted to appease. “I don’t mean to be sad,” again. Basic. All I could be…everything I could say. “I’m sorry.”

From Guest Contributor Endya Goliday

Endya is a fiction writer and playwright who resides in Saint Louis, Missouri.

Inconsolable

When Daniel heard the first notes of the song begin to play, he immediately broke out in inconsolable sobs. The best efforts of those around him only made his hysterics worse. The tears ran off his cheeks and began soaking into his collar and tie.

"I'm sorry," he kept repeating between desperate breaths. "It's just...that song...always does this to me."

"Pull yourself together, Jones. This is no time to blubber."

Daniel looked around, first at his boss, then his marketing associates at the conference table. The clients were there as well. Indeed, this was no time to blubber.