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Tag Archives: relationships
A Lonely Birthday
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography
Tagged 1940s, alone, art, birthday, depressing, down, family, fiction, flash fiction, loneliness, moving, new home, photo, photography, relationships, sad, typography, writing
Heat Wave
“I appreciate you.”
She looked up from the magazine she was reading and raised an eyebrow.
“What? I do,” I said.
“What do you mean?” she asked as she closed her copy of Under the Radar and placed it next to her.
“I was just thinking,” I started, “this is so nice. We’re sitting here together, reading, me on one couch, you on the other, and I’m really…”
“Happy?”
“Yes.”
She smiled and moved over to my couch. “Anything else you’d like to say?”
“Mhmm. I adore you. These simple moments, it’s too hot to cuddle, what with the heat wave, and we can’t really do much, so we’re just sitting here, relaxing, not even really feeling the need to chat.”
“Well, until now. Now you’re talking.”
“True, but now you’re cuddling. And it’s 100+ degrees out.”
“It’s 99.”
“Not if you include the heat index.”
“What does that even mean, the heat index?”
“I love that you always call me out.”
“Hey, you do it too,” she said, sliding even closer and putting her arm around me.
“Dude. It’s too hot to cuddle.”
“It’s too hot to talk, too,” she said as she got up, went back to her couch and returned to her magazine .
Posted in flash fiction, Zoey and Xander
Tagged beauty, entertainment, fiction, heat wave, life, love, magazine, musings, random, reading, relationships, romance, Under the Radar
The Annual Dare
The Annual Dare
Created with a found photograph from the 1940s, my imagination and my typewriter.
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography
Tagged 1940s, art, beauty, cabin, childhood, dare, deck, family, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photograph, friends, humor, kitsch, lake, life, media, people, photo, photography, relationships, retro, summer, typewriter, typography, vacation, vintage
Five More Minutes
The beeping of her alarm woke me up, but I didn’t mind.
“Hey,” she said, all sleepy-eyed.
“Morning,” I replied.
She turned away onto her side, an obvious hint she wanted to be spooned, and I followed suit.
“This is nice.”
She turned and smiled at my comment. Once she returned to being the little spoon I kissed her neck.
“I wish I didn’t have to go to work.,” I heard her whisper. “I could do this all day.”
“Same.”
She escaped my arms and rolled onto her back so I kissed her.
“At least you have off today. Lucky.”
I smiled. She’s always been jealous of my day off.
“You better get up. You’ll be late.”
She turned away again, signaling for more spooning. I scooched up against her and squeezed her in my arms.
She reached for the fluffy white comforter and pulled it over our heads.
“Five more minutes.”
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged alarm clock, bed, comforter, humor, life, love, photo, photography, pillow, relationships, romance, sleep, sleeping, waking up, work
Checking Out
Every Tuesday he checked out a book,
trying to get up the nerve to ask the cute librarian on a date.
Made with old library supplies and my Brother Charger 11 typewriter.
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged books, bookworm, boy, date, dating, girl, librarian, library, life, love, relationships, romance, typewriter, typography
Shards
She walked in and after a quick hug hello I asked. I just had to. I couldn’t wait another minute since the discovery I made while she was at work.
“So I was cleaning under the sink today,” as her eyes widen. “And I found a few broken mugs and a bowl.” I pause to see if she reacts. Besides the larger-than-usual look in her eyes and a tinge of obvious guilt, nothing. “Know anything about them?”
She walks past me and heads for the stairs.
“Hello?”
She turns and stomps back towards me.
“What.”
“Did you put them there?”
“Nope.”
“You didn’t?”
“No.” Straight faced.
“Really?”
“No, I didn’t.”
We live alone, besides our cat.
“So, what, the cat broke some mugs and a plate and hid them under the sink?”
Nothing.
“Maybe I should be having this conversation with the cat?”
Still nothing. She looks away. I can’t let this go, not because I had any real emotional attachment to the kitchenware, but because I have to understand why someone who was well over the age of ten would hide something she broke.
“Why did you hide them?”
“I didn’t.”
“Then who did?”
“I dunno.” This is the girl I chose?
This is easily the weirdest thing she’s done. I can’t figure it out.
“Could you please, please tell me why you stuffed them under the sink? I mean, if you didn’t want me to find out, why hide them? Why not just throw them out?”
She looks away again like a scolded child.
“So you didn’t do it. You didn’t break these.”
“No,” but this time in a low voice.
“Okay then. I guess it will remain a mystery.”
“Yup.” She walked back up the stairs.
I dropped the shards into the trash as I heard the shower turn on.
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged broken bowl, cat, crazy, fiction, flash fiction, humor, insane, insanity, kitchen, kitchenware, life, love, mug, odd, psycho, relationships, shard, strange, stress
Anhedonia
“Sometimes I swear you’re so negative you might be anhedonic.”
“What?” he asked me with a sullen look on his face.
“You can’t even be happy over the little things, simple everyday items. Like – what’s your favorite food?”
“You know it’s pizza. Come on.”
“What did we have for dinner?”
He sighed and looked away.
“Well? We had pizza. From your favorite place. Where the sauce is on top of the cheese. Did you say anything positive while we ate? Afterwards? Anything?”
He continued to look away.
“I swear I can’t take much more of this. I’m not even sure you enjoy having sex with me. When was the last time you put the moves on me? Do you even know?”
“Sure, it was last week. After your cousin’s birthday party.”
“That was two months ago. Two. Not a week.”
He looked out the window at a car passing by. He turned his attention back to me.
“What did you call me earlier?”
“Anhedonic.”
He opened his laptop and started typing.
“Are you Googling it?”
“No. Yeah.”
I smiled a little despite myself. “Well I can save you time. It basically means you don’t have the ability to experience pleasure in the normal, everyday things human beings enjoy. It’s a sad way to go through life. You weren’t always like this.”
He closed the computer and looked me in the eye for the first time in a while.
“Maybe I was faking it when we met. Maybe I have always been like this. What do you know? I could be the world’s best actor.”
“Could be, I guess.” I looked away, out the window at a couple walking by and holding hands. “I think I want out. I can’t date someone like this. You sit around, you do nothing but wait for me, and you don’t attempt to make yourself happy. I try all the time. I surprise you with pizza, I force you to go for walks – even when our friends come over to play games you’re miserable and barely speak.”
He frowned again, got up from his seat, and went to the fridge. He opened it, looked around inside, and stood there with the door open.
“What were you looking for?”
“I dunno. Nothing.”
“Hungry?”
“Nah.”
“Thirsty?”
“Nah.”
I tapped my fingers on the table as he shut the door and returned to his seat.
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged break up, breakup, couple, fight, frustration, humor, life, love, relationships
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 