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."

Policy Of Truth

At age 16, Brenda promised she would only tell the truth. She had always detested lies, even little white ones, and felt sick when forced to feign compliments. Even worse, when she found out she'd been lied to after the fact, she especially hated being told it was out of a desire to save her feelings. Sounded more like an excuse to avoid a hard conversation.

Brenda found honesty liberating in many ways, including the shedding of former friendships. But the best part had to be how much she enjoyed justifying her innate cruelty by her commitment to total veracity.

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.