"I love you"
"Liar." She shook her head and smiled at the guy buying a 12-pack of Coors Light and a bag of chips. Her round face lit up when she smiled, though, and creases appeared in the corners of his eyes.
"Why shouldn't I? You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He looked amused, but was being truthful. She rolled her eyes. "What some see as flaws, I see reflected in the most beautiful things in nature. The rolling of waves off the shore, the fullness of a tree in summer, the softness of clay in the ground."
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Chelsea Magwire and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Nuclear Winter
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. She liked to sit and imagine it was as it was in the books she had read - men and women dancing at regal balls, children playing in open fields, animals of all kinds wandering about freely. She had never felt the grass against the soles of her feet or let the cool water of a brook run through her fingers. She had never let the rain fall on her face or even felt the summer wind blow her hair. In her world, it was all gray walls and scuffed wooden floors and the smell of stale, stagnant air.
By Chelsea Magwire3 years ago in Fiction
Our Song
Evening has given way to night. Gently, I settle next to you on the comfortable, old love seat and reach for your hand. You snatch it away, again. It cuts me to the quick, but I hide the pain, understanding that the reaction is but part of your demented state. Since the accident, your presence here in our cozy home has been clouded by a haze I can't see. Nevertheless, I feel the frigidity of your expressions and it serves as an excruciating reminder of the immeasurable distance between us.
By Dana Crandell4 days ago in Fiction
Jars
Jim sat in his favorite rocker, beams of late afternoon sun draped over his lap instead of stabbing him in the eyes like on Billy’s side of the porch. He twirled a lollipop between his fingers, occasionally popping it in his mouth. He’d been doing this since he stopped smoking. The young’uns didn’t remember the cloud of Pall Mall that used to shroud his face as he told his tales. The kids were playing in the yard and under the porch, out of the September heat in the cool sand, sun shining between the shadows of the slats. Presently, a grubby face appeared over Jim’s shoulder. The kids wanted to go down to the creek to play.
By Harper Lewis5 days ago in Fiction
The Angry Man in Your House
"If you grow up with an angry man in your house, there will always be an angry man in your house" This statement has caused plenty of controversy online, people say its a statement that blames victims while also undermining those who break traumatic cycles to form health relationships... but if I'm honest now that I'm in my 30s it makes more sense to me than ever, and I'd argue that its not just about fathers and uncles.
By S. A. Crawfordabout 22 hours ago in Humans
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.