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Tag Archives: couples
Out of State Love
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography
Tagged 1940s, 1950s, 1960s, admission of love, art, beauty, bridge, couples, dating, Etsy, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photograph, friends, friendship, go to her, kitsch, life, long distance relationship, love, marriage, original print, photo, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, poetry, reading, relationships, romance, states, typewriter, typography, vintage, writing
Missed Connections
You: the type of girl who reads the missed connections in the adorable hope that someone, somewhere noticed how amazing you are but in the brief moment he first saw you, it was too late and you were gone, possibly because you’d been waiting for a bus and it came, or maybe because he couldn’t go in the coffee shop you sat in drinking your tea because he had his dog and there was a clear sign that said “No Dogs Allowed” so he rushed his poor little pup home and ran back only to find you gone. Maybe this post is about the pretty red sundress you had, or your copy of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, or perhaps it was your backpack shaped like Kermit or your hair in pigtails held in place with little vintage barrettes or your big sad eyes, or maybe it was just the low-cut shirt or your painstakingly perfect face. Maybe it was that sad, distant look on your face that spoke to him; there’s a pretty good chance it’s that. He saw you and in that moment he saw it all, his awkward first approach, your walk in the park that lead to the inevitable first kiss, the initial lovemaking that wasn’t exactly his A-game but he knows he will do better the second time, the second time where you clearly enjoy it more, all the way up to the wedding day, the honeymoon, the kids and the white picket fence.
Me: The kind of guy who believes in missed connections, and thinks that any girl who reads them as often as I must be a keeper, regardless of what it was that made you first talk to me.
This is a fictional missed connection I made up.
The Healthcare Issues of a Couple in Love
“Do you ever think about marrying me?” she asked wide-eyed.
“Interesting pillow talk,” he thought to himself.
“Of course I do. I’m just waiting for the right-”
“Time?” she said with too much enthusiasm.
“Um…I was actually going to say health insurance.” He tried not to crack a smile.
She jumped up. “What?!?!”
He chuckled and she cracked a smile.
“What’s sad is that I know you’re only half kidding.”
“True.” He reached over and stuck his thumbs into her armpits before she could react and had her giggling in no time. “God knows I wouldn’t marry you for your money. You work at Borders!”
Between giggles she tried to defend herself both against the tickles and his teasing.
“Shut up! Yours isn’t much better – and at least-” giggles “Mine is-” laughing harder 
“full-time!” She started squealing as he switched it up and started squeezing her ribs a bit, tickling the old ivories.
“Let’s face it,” he continued. “Right now your health insurance isn’t so great. I’m looking for a girl with seriously awesome insurance. So you know, when I get sick, it’s easier. Cheaper. Five dollar co-pay.”
She jumped up and pushed his arms away. Now it was her turn as she somehow got her hands onto his belly, his weak spot. His laughter was uncontrolled as he fell to the ground.
“How about now? What do you have to say now?” she said, laughing as hard as she was when roles were reversed.
He tried but couldn’t get the words out. Finally she let up but kept her hands on his belly.
“Well? What do you have to say?” He grinned and she poised for another attack.
“Dental. And vision.”
So she attacked.
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged couples, fiction, flash fiction, healthcare, humor, latest healthcare news, life, love, occupational healthcare, photo, photograph, photography, romance, sarcasm, tickling, writing
The Cliff’s Edge
A found photograph with a dark, possibly evil story typed on it with my Brother Charger 11.
This and many other prints can be purchased now at my ETSY! Check it out!
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography
Tagged Alfred Hitchcock, art, couples, dark, Edward Gorey, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photo, friendship, life, love, murder, noir, photograph, photography, romance, Tim Burton, typography, writing
The Boy With No Happy Ending
Artwork by Kate Hiscock of Slightly Me
He watches them embrace from across the street, right under the little orange hand that warns him it was not safe to cross. It glows, mocking him, forcing him to keep his distance.
He wants what they have. But he know his role in life, he knows where this all ends up.
He is the boy with no happy ending. If his past has taught him anything, it is this. And he accepts it.
He has this power over people, they find him so interesting, so quirky, so rare.
And yet he will never find love. And he accepts this.
The couple across the street, coming in and out of view as cars rushed by blurring his view of them, move as if under a strobe light.
Flash. They are kissing.
Flash. She pulls away.
Flash. He smiles.
Flash. She smiles.
Flash. They kiss again.
He watches, trying not to, attempting to look away before they notice how he stares at their obvious and understood love for each other. Everyone witnessing this moment can see their devotion. It is clear.
He wants a beautiful person to kiss on a corner, a sad goodbye even though they both know they will be in each other’s arms again later that night.
He will never meet that girl. And he accepts this.
More cars.
Flash. He gently strokes the tattoo on her arm.
Flash. She brushes a tuft of his dyed blonde hair away from his face.
Flash. He does the same to her and laughs.
Flash. She lets out a flirtatious giggle.
Flash. They are kissing again.
A bus passes and The Boy With No Happy Ending notices a woman on it with messy hair and an oversized gray sweater on. She is staring out of the window with a distant, melancholy look, and he knows how she feels.
As the bus pulls away, leaving a dark cloud of pollution behind it, he sees that the couple is no longer embracing on the corner. The girl is walking away, the guy is walking towards his side of the street.
The orange hand disappears, and the little white man appears, telling the boy it’s now safe to cross.
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged art, couples, depression, fiction, flash fiction, hapy endings, humor, life, love, photography, photoshop, poem, poetry, romance, sad, sadness, slightly me, slightlyme, superpower, unhappy
It’s the End of Lost As We Know It (and I Feel Fine)
“It’s all over tonight,” she said as I rolled over and realized she was awake.
“Think we’ll have all of the answers?”
“Nope. But I think they’ll try their best.”
She was always the optimist. That is why I love her. I yanked the comforter off her and she started yelling.
“It’s cold! Give it baaaaaack!”
I laughed hysterically as she jumped up and started tickling me. All of a sudden she became serious, so I made a straight face back at her.
“What’s wrong?”
“We have to decide which party to go to.”
“Which Lost party?”
“Yup,” she said, sitting down and removing her fingers from my armpits. I was just thrilled to catch my breath.
“Well, where do you want to go?”
She looked up, making the face she always made while deep in thought.
“Dunno, you?” she finally responded.
“I’d rather just order a pizza, get some wine, sit on the couch with you under a blanket, and just watch it here. We have a big TV, surround sound, all that, why not?”
She smiled.
“You always have the answer to everything.”
“Except Lost.”
“Well nobody has the answer to that!” she said in a raised voice, warning me it was time to be tickled again. And I was right. She jumped and dug her fingers right back into my armpits, and I was helpless. I giggled until she finally decided it was time to let me breathe again, at which point I pushed her down with my legs and got her back until she started yelling-
“Uncle! Uncle!”
I laughed and let her go. She sat up.
“So pizza and wine? That’s all you need tonight?”
“And you.”
“And me.”
“That’s it.”
She smiled and sat up, fixing her hair, which was a mess from the tickling.
“Who do you think will live? Jack? Hurley? KATE?!?!”
“I don’t know. And I don’t care. I’m just glad it’ll be over. No more wondering. No more hour of television every week like clockwork. No more letting my Netflix movies pile up as we watch and rewatch the episodes in case we missed anything. It’ll all be over tonight.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“I feel fine.”
Posted in flash fiction, Zoey and Xander
Tagged couples, decision, fiction, final episode, flash fiction, friends, humor, life, Lost, love, media, news, party, romance, sleep, television, tickle fight
Once Upon a Noontime, Humid…
It was a hot, sticky day – ninety degrees and quite humid. They had to walk about two miles from the hotel to get there, and neither of them really dressed for the heat. Her tights were sticking to her legs under the orange sixties sundress she’d chosen that morning, and his jeans were just as bad but at least he’d removed his button-down plaid shirt and thrown it into his messenger bag.
And finally, from about twenty feet away, they saw the graveyard.
The headstones were old, crumbling, the names worn off by weather and time; they could sense the history, the age of the place, even before they reached the entrance.
The small stones lead to larger ones, until they finally came upon the opening in the black wrought-iron fence that surrounded the site to a giant stone pillar with a bronze image of him.
Edgar Allen Poe.
They both loved his writing, but then who didn’t? They stopped in front of the monument to the great writer and he put his arm around her orange-covered waist, and she wiggled until it fell off.
“It’s so hot. I feel gross.”
“I know. But still, it’s a moment.”
She turned to look at him and stood on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. He smiled and patted her blonde hair.
“That better?”
“Yes,” she said, barely audible. He realized they were both whispering all along, and it made sense, considering the aged and morose atmosphere. He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a withered copy of a book, the title worn off the cover not unlike the eroded gravestones. He proceeded to sit on a little step across from the monument and opened to a page marked with an old, leather bookmark.
She walked next to him, flattened the back of her dress and sat down, crossing her ankles. She rested her head on his shoulder, which he nudged so that she would sit up.
“Too hot,” he said with a sarcastic tone and a smile. She smiled and put her head right back on his shoulder.
He started reading out loud. “Once upon a midnight dreary…”
His and Hers
“Look at this!” she said, pointing at the two Buddy Scooters parked side-by-side on the sidewalk, one a pale orange and the other a light blue. “Beautiful. I love it. I wish I had my camera.”
“I have mine,” he said, foraging through his messenger bag trying to find it.
“Do you have an eye for these things?”
“Of course. I love photography. Do you?” She nodded. “Good.” He snapped a few photos and then held the camera out for her to see. She moved her oversized sunglasses to the tip of her nose and looked over them into the tiny screen.
“Good. Do you think they belong to a couple?”
“His and hers scooters, I would think so.” 
“I think this is so cute.”
“But you aren’t a romantic,” he said, the corners of his mouth raised a tiny bit.
“I never said I was not a romantic.”
“Yes you did.”
She stomped her foot a bit with a smile on her face. “This does not necessarily prove I am a romantic. This doesn’t make sense.”
“I knew you were. We can smell our own.”
She started walking again, hoping to change the subject. “What does it matter. Romantic, unromantic, this does not matter. And this proves nothing,” she said, gesturing back towards the vehicles. He stopped walking, forcing her to stop as well and turn back to look at him.
“You find the idea of a couple who each have a scooter, the same model but in different colors, beautiful. You probably pictured this perfect couple driving them between cars down the street, stopping at traffic lights and smiling at one another, maybe stopping at some cute little café for lunch…that is what makes you a romantic. But it really doesn’t matter if you are or aren’t, I just think you’re in denial.”
She smiled and walked towards him, taking his arm and turning him around. “Look,” she said, aiming him towards the scooters.
A couple had left the building and approached the Buddies, unlocked the helmet boxes on the back and removed a blue and an orange helmet. The guy put on the orange one and sat on the blue bike, while the girl put on the blue one and sat on the orange moped.
“Come, let’s go to a café,” she said to him.
Photographs by Dennis Finocchiaro
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged cafe, city, couples, fiction, first date, flash fiction, hipster, life, love, moped, photograph, photography, romance, scooter, vehicles, vespa
Come Here (A Flash Fiction Story)
“Have any of your friends ever told you that you could do better?”
She looked up from the book she was reading, shifted her weight on the park bench and looked at him, gave him a half-smile, then looked down at her shoes.
“So they have then.”
“Why? What does it matter?”
“Curious, I guess.”
She looked him in the eye and then fixed his hair a bit in the front.
“It doesn’t matter. I like you.” She smiled her biggest, friendliest smile.
“Like?”
“You know…” she smiled again, a little embarrassed.
“It’s just…” he started.
She gave him a look, waiting, urging him to finish his thought.
“You’re so beautiful, and let’s face it, I’m average on a good day.”
She laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. You’re just silly.”
He looked at her, a little hurt.
“Oh come on! I’ve had a crush on you since I read your first short story. And then the way you were shaking a little when you asked me on that first date…adorable!”
“You said you couldn’t tell!”
A small laugh escaped her, but then hid her mouth behind her hand. He relaxed a bit.
She playfully shoved him and he shoved her back. Then she stopped and looked at him, her smile fading.
“Come here.” She waved him closer to her.
“I’m here.”
“No, HERE!” He inched a bit closer, and she gave him a look, forcing him to scoot right up alongside of her.
“I like you,” she said, gently resting her head on his shoulder. She smiled again.
“I think I could do better,” he said with a sly smile on his face.
Posted in flash fiction, Zoey and Xander
Tagged books, Central Park, couples, dating, fiction, flash fiction, funny, hipsters, humor, indie, love, park, park bench, playground, reading, romance
The Realistic Optimist
She sat down at the table and automatically lifted the mug of coffee towards her face, analyzed it, then sniffed it.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” he said with a snicker. “Why do you always think it’s going to be wrong?”
She took off her hoodie and draped it over the chair behind her. “Because they rarely, if ever, get it exactly how I order it.”
“So negative for an optimist!”
“Let’s just say I’m a realistic optimist and leave it at that.” She stirred the coffee and took another sniff. “I think there’s too much cinnamon.”
He laughed. “No such thing.”
“As too much cinnamon?” she asked with a smile.
“No, jerk. As a realistic optimist.”
“Sure there is.”
“Optimists are dreamers by nature. A person claiming to be a realistic optimist is just an undercover pessimist, trying to figure out why optimists are so optimistic, what makes them tick, why they think there will be a happy ending regardless of how things are in the present.”
“Nah,” she said, swatting his idea away from the table. “I’m a dreamer who hopes for the best, but prepares for the worst.”
“An optimist wouldn’t prepare for the worst. He or she would just know that either the best will happen, or they will take something from the bad event, no matter what it is, that will make them a better person.”
She sighed and took a sip. “Hmmm…I was right, too much cinnamon, not enough milk.” She put it down and pushed it away from her and towards him.
He reached over and grabbed the cup, walked to the self-serve table, and added some milk. He sipped it, added a little more, and returned.
“It still has too much cinnamon, I’ll bet you,” she said. He handed it to her and she sipped it, said nothing, and put it down, this time on the table right in front of her. He smiled.
Photograph and some dialogue by Jessica Brookins.
Posted in flash fiction, Zoey and Xander
Tagged cinnamon, coffee, coffee shop, couples, fiction, flash fiction, hoodie, love, optimism, optimist, pessimisim, pessimist, realism, relationships, short story
A Flash of Inspiration 