Can I tell you a story about a kind soul? This is a true story and I would love to tell you about it. I was dating this nice young man. He and I were very in sync with one another and we had fun together. His brother didn't like me for some reason. All his other family members loved me but not his older brother. When I would come around, he didn't want me around.

Well, one night my man-friend and I was spending quality time. All of a sudden someone started yelling through the window. He was saying mean things about me. He went downstairs and they started to fight.

Finally, my boyfriend came upstairs. I looked at him and noticed he lost his front tooth. He ignored him for a week. His brother showed up at my job. He brought me a rose and an apology for the fight with his brother. He stated that he really did like me and that he was jealous that his brother finally found a good girl. I was surprised. I gave him a hug and thanked him. The next day, his brother was found dead in a field. We were told that his best friend shot him in the back. The police caught up with his friend two days later. On the day he died, an old television I was using just for games because it had no sound, suddenly SCREAMED out with sound.

We were totally amazed. I told my boyfriend it was his brother saying "bye". He was buried three days later, and that night my television sound STOPPED. I knew his brother was on his way home to my Lord. I grieve for him even today. I never had the chance to enjoy him as a brother.

LEHertel

24 reads

Over the Hill

Jack and Jill went over the hill,

and counted on their daughter.

She skipped town, and let them down,

and they went to the hereafter.

Shorts & Flash

Chapter 26 of 28

Undermeyou

Wheel

“Isn't it strange, how people all use things in the same way? How ubiquitous small things become?”

It's too hot for such a tedious conversation. The windows are down in the beater, but in this dead-stop traffic there's no breeze playing through them. I say nothing. The one good thing about him is that he can carry the conversation all on his own. He really only cares what he's thinking, anyway. I let my eyes drift from the little, stick-on family on the van in front of us to catch his own. He takes this as a sign to proceed.

“Like, you have this necklace hanging here from the mirror. And look next to us,” I glance in Miss Hybrid’s car and see a sparkling, crystal pendulum hanging. “She couldn't be more different than us, but look at her. Windows up, air cranked, brand new car. But what's she using her rear-view for? To hang shit on. If we look around, I'd bet most of these cars have a lanyard or keychain or bandanna hanging in their front window. It doesn't matter what the car or where they came from. It's just what you do. It's not what the mirror’s there for. But everyone does it. Just like bumper stickers. Or sticking your bills and calendars on the fridge…”

He has more examples, but I start to lose focus. I pull my fingers through my hair and tip my head back. I turn the music up, and he goes on louder. He will never notice that he has lost my attention. Even when he concludes with some finale of his grand take on the world. Even when I don't respond. He won't have noticed. He will begin to inform me of some other thought that just slipped through his mind and became a novel worth of ideas. He's content to just talk. He's right. About most things, he's right. But the droning. It just turns to buzzing. I don't care about the stupid antler hanging from the pick-up truck behind us or Mr. Car Worth More Than Our House’s hanging air freshener. Micro is macro. I get it. I just don't care. I care that this traffic isn't moving. I care that it's so hot that I'm sweating sitting still. I care that we’re late on the mortgage and that right now, he's late for a side job, which will make us more late on the mortgage. Macro is micro. That's probably not the same. But for every stupid rear-view mirror with some talisman hanging on for dear life, there's a driver with a million problems. And I care that they all just run together. The mortgage is late, the house isn't clean, work makes me stressed, no money makes me stressed. I care that everything is just a problem. And I care that he is still talking. Why is he still talking? We’ve moved up a few cars, and the shitty twin to my shitty car that sits next to us is filled to bursting with arguing, crying kids. And in the front, a screaming mother. They inspire him to go in depth on how the different classes discipline. And he's right. He's full of shit. And he's right. And he's still talking. And we finally hit the exit. And I finally let the car pick up speed. And we are coming around the bend too fast. And he's talking. And the kids’ crying is ringing in my head. And then we aren't turning. And we’re flying. And the beater has grown wings. And he's not talking. And I'm not talking. And no one’s crying. And there are no talisman hanging from any mirrors. There's just the sky where there should be ground and the ground where there should be sky. And macro and micro and whatever else. And I think I used it right that time.

Challenge

There's nothing more painful than...

Tellthestars in Poetry & Free Verse

57 reads

Broken Trust

"Honey! I'm home early!" No response.

After a while she finally replied. "Um... I have clients."

"Okay! I can meet them!" I headed upstairs. I walked into her training room to find horrors.

She was sitting on top of a well-endowed man, both of them buck naked. I yelled angrily.

"HOW COULD YOU?" I hated her more than anything in that moment. I had trusted her, and I loved her. I had been planning to take her out for a nice dinner on the river. I walked into the bathroom to wipe away my tears as the two of them put on clothes, and he snuck out. To those who say men don't cry, they do. They just hide it. While I was in the bathroom, I happened to glance in the trash can, and I saw the tip of a test. I knew that test. It was a pregnancy test. I pulled it out, and read the results. Pregnant. She was pregnant. Who knows if it was even my baby. I yelled out in rage again, and made my way to the bar. On my way home, I was hammered drunk. I blubbered to my Uber driver about how broken I felt. It truely felt like a knife had been stuck in my heart, then it was slowly pulled out. As we drove by the jewelery store, I asked him to stop. I went in, and pulled the box out of my pocket. The jeweler looked at me.

"Rough night?" he asked.

"Yeah. I caught her cheating and I don't know if she is pregnant by me or not."

"Oh. That sucks."

"Yep."

"That is a $40 return fee."

"Okay. Thank you."

"Have a better day."

"I'll try." I got back into my car, and was driven home. She was gone with a note by the door. The baby is yours. I'm sorry. I was broken, just like my trust. I never dated anyone after her. I saw my son on weekends, but I never saw her again.