55 Fiction

Leaves turn
some different
colors

red
orange
yellow

You get the idea.

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Though the words stung even as they passed through his lips, he knew they were rightly said. She knew, too; he could tell by the look in her eye. There was sadness, but not surprise. And certainly not anger. It simply had to be this way.
The words? “I think we should be just friends.”

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“Half way there,” he said aloud, though no one was around to hear him. His quest had begun weeks ago, and as many weeks still lay before him.
He pressed on, driven by the memory of her scent and the hope of her presence once again. In five hundred miles his hope would be realized.

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“And do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife, to love, honor and cherish, in good time and in bad, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
Taking a deep breath he answered simply and confidently with a grand smile on his face.
“I do.”

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Maria put away the last of the groceries and collapsed in a chair. Her husband was hunched over the table fidgeting with some broken toy for their daughter. It was an ordinary moment in a common day, and Maria was delighted. With a twinkle in her eye she breezed by him on the way upstairs.

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He dressed silently in the pre-dawn gloom. He wanted to stay longer, but duty called. His leave was over, and he would be flying out in a few hours.
He kissed her lightly on the forehead and whispered, “I love you.” Still asleep she turned over, pulled the blanket to her chin, and smiled faintly.

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She sat on her bed Indian-style staring at the phone. Every few minutes she’d lift the receiver and only to drop it quickly.
Finally, with a deep sigh, she dialed from memory. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. She started to hang up when a hopeful voice on the other end said, “Hello?”

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Madison trudged home. Instead of taking the bus, she walked alone. At the party she stood under the mistletoe for hours. Ethan passed several times. Always a smile; never more.
Turning onto Oak, Madison decided to give up.
She started up the stoop. And there sat Ethan, thermos in one hand, mistletoe in the other.

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“What’s the point of bar-hopping anyway?” she asked the cold night.
Ahead, one car swerved on an ice patch, causing a traffic jam. The driver on her right got out to investigate and slipped on more ice. Rhonna sighed and went over to help. Their eyes met.
Maybe going out wasn’t useless after all.

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      Jimmy climbed into bed and whispered, “I love you sweetheart. Goodnight.” With his right hand he stretched out to hold his wife. His arm moved a little further across the bed until it reached full extension. For a brief moment Jimmy began to panic. Where was she? Then with a flood of emotion, he remembered.

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