Stories tagged confusion

The Unpublished Writer and His Love Interest (The Painter)

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When the writer expressed with subtle alacrity that he adored the painter, she was flattered and didn't raise objection. The writer-in his aloof manner, with experienced caution-pointedly wrote a poem directly for his muse. She never spoke of it, and hi

I know ...

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But here it was, Friday afternoon with Deborah checking MySpace for interesting bulletins or messages before she made some weekend plans, finding a blog from Fred posted that same morning with two simple sentences. "I know. I've known for a long time.


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I'm waiting for your voice. My trembling hand is so damp the phone could slip from my fragile grasp at any moment. Each ring burns in my ear and makes the washing machine in my stomach tumble faster and faster. After three rings, or it could be four, or forty, I hear…

Playing with Fire

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Six sentences

(2) Liars

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"Being honest with me," said her teacher, "will hopefully allow you to be honest with yourself--writing is about being honest, and articulating that honesty." It sounded like a riddle, and her teacher looked at her with the sanctimony of a wizard.

Reminder To Clean

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In odd intervals a cheery robotic voice cried out,"Hello!" What the hell?

The Queue

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She persisted. “How long have we been here?” A note of anger crept into his voice. “How long? How long? Why …, why ….” He swallowed hard, realized he had forgotten.

Second verse, same as the first

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Most people assume I’m gay, and have assumed I’m gay since I was in fifth grade. Maybe sooner. Maybe fifth grade is just my first memory of recognizing what other people believed true about me. But coming out as a gay man in 1987, when I was in fifth gra


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I slowly remember, isolated figure in space, a saddened smile leading her yesterday to now and afterward a heavy weight bending her head toward dwindling dreams. Time has flown, and time flows onward. A voice reaches out, tenderly streaming th


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I was awakened by a disturbing dream. He was no longer with me and I felt afraid. Everything was cloudy, almost blurry. I couldn't see much in front of me, but I knew for sure he wasn't there with me. Then he said the words I feared the most “I don't love you.…

Schizoid Love Story

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As she stood outside, puffing on a cigarette in the wet air, she still couldn't recall his name.

The End of Coffee

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I am getting twisted like a cruller into the mess I have made of this morning and I am stretching the meaning of morning to way past its boundaries.

The Spill.

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That dude takes method-acting to a whole new level. Ever seen a teenager bust a homeless man’s nose to understand a role?