He didn’t see her. Everyone else did. Not him. He saw a meal ticket as he stood at the altar watching his white gowned bride pass candles, glowing. The scent of sterling roses floated above her beloved friends and family, soaring with the best voices in her college choir. He saw arm candy, they, carrot-topped grace, unearned love and favor. A congregation of 200 Lutherans and 51 upwardly mobile witnessed her stare into his baby blues. Heard her uncertain, “I do.” Nearly forty years and he remained willing to squander resources on pipe dreams. Had she missed his “I don’t?”
About the Creator
Barbara Steinhauser
MFA Writing for Children and Young Adults
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More stories from Barbara Steinhauser and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Embody Me
The granddaughter bowed a legato Etude with strong, smooth strokes, her liquid bob shielding emerging cheekbones. The pine scent of wafting resin made me sneeze. Two violins rejected, she was testing a third. “It needs tuning. But that’s okay.” Her wide, toothy grin exposed hope. She down bowed with a flourish. “This is it!” Joy exploded my chest like fireworks. Violin cases were exchanged, light for heavier. She clutched the heavier case to her heart. My faded blue credit card scraped the music store slot machine. My voice stuck in my throat as she whispered, “She’s meant to be mine.”
By Barbara Steinhauser 17 days ago in Fiction
My Island Dream
I sit in the beach lounge chair, enjoying the sparkling, crystal blue water of the ocean in front of me. Though the waves were inviting me to dive into them, I opted to sit in the chair. Sunbathing suited me better than swimming in the ocean. The waves gently caress the shores; the breeze whispering in my ears.
By Iris Harris6 days ago in Fiction
Black sand and slate skin trees
Rolling hills of black sand and slate-skin trees - you can't picture it until you go there. A forest of immense scale, now so devoid of life, totally arid and deprived. The air is thick and starved of oxygen, but crystal clear. From any given point, you could see a kilometre ahead - all the more troubling. There are no birds, no shrubs or thickets, no mammals or bugs to be seen. You'll find no glade pools filled with little fishies; no rivers running through. Not even a basin with a swampy bog. You'll find no signs that life could be sustained there. Because it can't...not anymore.
By James Durl6 days ago in Fiction
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