Tag Archives: divorce

Divorce Is Messy

PHOTO PROMPT – © Me

PHOTO PROMPT – © Me

His boots thumped against the wood as he walked toward the end of the boardwalk. Her silhouette beckoned him in the distance. He didn’t think she’d actually show. They usually don’t. They usually have a change of heart. Not this one though. This one meant business.

He grinned as he approached. She looked nervous. Most of the ones who made it this far did. He didn’t trust the ones who didn’t, refused to work with them.

“You got the money?” he asked.

She extended a shaking arm to him, a bag clutched in her hand.

“He won’t bother you anymore.”

I figured it only appropriate to write about marriage for this photo as I snapped the shot while on my honeymoon almost 9 years ago. Sure, this story is about a broken marriage and a hitman hired to kill the husband, but it’s still about marriage. If you’re wondering, this story is not a reflection of reality. To my knowledge my wife hasn’t hired anyone to kill me and as far as I know she isn’t planning to. I’ve been wrong before though.

Written for Friday Fictioneers.

Click here for stories from the other Fictioneers.


Six on the Sixth – Jan 2016

Wrong

She trusted him. He betrayed her.

Cap

Her signature beside the pen. Divorced.

Splendid

Life is better without that prick.

Cantankerous

He’s just a cantankerous, old fart.

Torn

Even still, she still loves him.

Unfurl

She misses him. Freedom is difficult.

Written for Six on the Sixth.

As is my occasional style, these stories are individual chapters in a longer story, but I hope they stand on their own at the same time.

6on6


Life’s Greatest Regret

PHOTO PROMPT © Ron Pruitt

PHOTO PROMPT © Ron Pruitt

“Me first,” the old man shouted as he pushed through the crowd. His words reminded me of my daughter. She’d always had to be first, like most kids.

I stood there watching–just watching–as the old man struggled with the high step onto the bus. No one bothered helping him.

I allowed my thoughts to wander. I thought of my little girl, of what I was leaving behind.

I looked at my suitcase, and thought of my wife. We tried. We really did, but we couldn’t make it work.

I got on the bus. Looking back, I wish I hadn’t.

This one is a bit outside of my usual, but I like it. I think there’s an overwhelming sadness to it, which is like a second cousin of horror. Or something like that anyway.

Written for Friday Fictioneers.

Click here to read the other stories.