His face is somber, strained, mouth pinched tight as he witnesses the man and woman exchanging vows on this lovely California day, and his eyes shimmer wetly.

I know he’s crying for the happy couple and for us, and as I hear the priest say, ‘I now pronounce you husband and wife,’ I reach for his hand and whisper to him, “We could go to Massachusetts.”

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Two Sentence Story bookmarks

Hi everyone, so I had people emailing me about Goldfish illustrated, suggesting it would make a good bookmark.Flashback

I’d like to gauge interest in printing up some bookmarks from the stories on this website. I’m thinking five different bookmarks, full-colour double-sided. This means a single bookmark would have a story on each side.

In total, ten different stories would be made into bookmarks. They would cost $1 each or buy the set of five for $4.

Using online estimators, the postage within Australia would be about 0.55-$1. For US/UK and everyone else in the world it would be somewhere between $2.50-$4.50 AUD for postage.

The bookmarks are 40mm wide by 150mm tall, so clearly there would be some design constrictions which would affect which stories could be printed up.

Anyways, I’m leaving this post up so you can tell me if it’s a good idea (as in, you’d be a customer) and which stories you would like to see made into a bookmark. Leave your reply in the comments and vote on this page.

If enough people reply and vote then I’ll start putting up designs for voting. The best designs win.



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Elephant In The Parlour

Even in the heat of Summer she is swaddled in layers of clothing, wrapped shut in sleeves and smocks and cardigans, growing ever-smaller within them as time drifts on.

Lazy in her living room, Sunday afternoon stories drifting over me like soup-spill, I wonder what I have often wondered: if her arms are kept covered to hide the tattoo that must be there, the one that we don’t talk about.

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When you said “attention everyone” I thought for a second you would actually say something interesting.
Like about how the guy leaving was a horrible person to work with, an insufferable bore and many of us there would happily kill him if we thought we could get away with it.

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It wasn’t much of a house, with the old wood plank floors worn into grooves from generations of dwellers, thin windows and sagging mattresses and a ramshackle, rundown front porch with bentwood rockers that had held countless dreamers and so much love on their welcoming slatted seats.

He stood alone at a huge window of his 12,000 square foot mansion, looking out at the view of acres of perfectly manicured grounds, the pool, the tennis court, the 5 car garage, the servants quarters, the gated and guarded entrance, and wished he was looking out at the woods and peaceful water from the rocker on that beat up front porch, with nothing to fret over but how many fish he would be able to catch in the lake that day and how he could make his family smile while they talked together and ate the fresh catch that night at supper.

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The Good Mother

She thought herself a very good mother and hated leaving the five of them alone for any length of time, even to go across the street to get food for dinner, for they were typical young’uns always looking for mischief, but what choice did she have?

He didn’t even brake when he saw her, just muttered “damn raccoon” as he sped off leaving her dying on the road, bleeding and broken, and her young babes hungry, motherless orphans.

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Red Hat Ladies

They came into the restaurant, the ladies in purple dresses, decked out in feathery boas, glittering broaches and pins and rings made of rhinestones or zircona, their blonde or gray curls topped with red hats adorned with feathers, ribbons, flowers, fruit, jewels, and whatever else came to mind, talking and giggling and patting their hair with gloved hands, sharing gossip, secrets and pictures of their grandchildren and pets as they made their way to the big round table at Red Lobster, where they would debate at length the merits of various menu items (and afterwards change their order twice after the longsuffering waitress had written it down) before finally settling on the all-you-can-eat soup and salad for their one monthly outing.

Two hours later the petite waitress (a single mother, trying to make it raising two children on tips and no child support from a dead-beat ex-husband) asks, “Can I get you ladies anything else?” as she clears the dishes and picks up her $1 tip from each place.

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