Big Stories in Two Little Sentences
She paced the floor over and over, cursing his very being, dreaming of how many ways she would tear him apart for putting her through this misery again, when he arrived home, which he always did, with a stupid look on his face and a lame excuse emanating from his lips.
No matter how much she loved him, she would teach him a lesson this time she vowed, until the knock on the front door accompanied by the two uniformed police officers, brought her world to a crashing halt.
Love found me.
I said, “now you go hide”.
As the sun set on Jacaranda St, Mrs Jones cut sponge cake into squares and dipped each piece carefully into thick chocolate paste and rolled through the coconut, just as her mother once taught her. But as the shrill of the kettle peaked to a new high, Mr Jones collapsed in his chair, his biscuit falling into his coffee: he was gone at last.
I have the tears of a snowman at the kiss of your sun, welcoming your fire with a scarf slipping askew.
When you go, I will be the space left behind, warmed but empty.
Dreams have always lingered. You are helping me make them a reality.
Angela was consumed with fear each time her husband left the house thanks to the increase in crime in her neighborhood so she secretly bought a gun to protect herself. One morning the security alarm went off so Angela ran down the stairs and shot the shadowy figure that was trespassing; Angela turned on the light only to find her husband lying in a pool of blood holding a bouquet of roses.
We have taught each other so much in the time we’ve spent together.
You’ve taught me about love and hope and justice and I’ve taught you about lentils and parachute pants and how to fold little paper dogs out of any spare scrap you find.