Author: twosentencestories

Regret

He studied her face, thinking how beautiful she was, and thought of all the nights he had left her alone, frantic with worry, while he caroused with his friends. After several minutes, he dialed the number, and with tears rolling down his cheeks, said, “I’d like to report a suicide.”

He woke up covered in sweat, nervous, with his heart beating really hard due to that dreadful nightmare: he stabbed his own wife while she was sleeping, with such an anger…

His hands were soaked in some kind of red dense liquid, he was holding a knife.

As the shadows made their way up the mountains of the Eastern Kentucky town of Hazard on a muggy, August Friday night, the four handsome boys, all of high school age, reached for a beer from the back of the shiny, black SUV.

Four hours later, as the EMT’s pulled the last of the four boys’ lifeless bodies out of the twisted heap of metal, four pairs of parents sat on their living room couches in their comfortable homes, completely unaware of the pain that would soon come their way.

Mary wept. Twenty minutes later, she began waking Frank, Ned and Bianca, filled cereal bowls, started the wash, found stamps for the piles of bills and opened the drapes to another dreary 6 a.m.

When I felt most deeply moved by the Holy Spirit my loved ones told me that was not where God wanted me. They were right: He doesn’t exist.

I knew from the beginning I would be wed to my Lord, though I fought my father’s decision bitterly, having privately accepted my lot to rule my family’s lower household. Father longed to raise our name from ashes into greatness, however, so he offered me up to my Lord — a widowed, aging weasel, who had no heir to his name, his stature or his wealth — never guessing such dealings might breed a bitter, vindictive heart in his precious daughter.

What was I thinking about when I decided to join this elite unit that defies the odds, goes on secret, dangerous missions behind enemy lines after jumping out of an airplane at 30,000 feet?

Semper Fi

Sitting awkwardly and gripping the tools, there is a moment of reverence before the act and a whispered prayer for fertility.
In an uncomfortable moment, she can’t help but wonder if people will be able to tell that the baby’s father was a turkey baster.

Sometimes I think I’m awesome. Every other time I just know it.

I was only sixteen when they made me remember my childhood; the sterile, white walled interview room haunted me ever after. I lived a long life, but I died too soon to ever forget it.

I take a good long stretch as I awaken to another predictable morning; sun shining through the window, birds singing in the backyard, my breakfast ready and waiting, a warm bed in which to return. Basking in the sunlight, I close my eyes and begin to meditate when I am jolted by the throbbing pain of you stepping on my tail!

“My, you two girls would fight over anything,” the exasperated, harried step-mom sighed, as she admonished them about the importance of sharing and being kind and that patience is a virtue, and that all good things come to those who wait, and just about every other homily that she could think of to make them realize how selfish and child-like they were acting, trying to steal each other’s food.
“Ok,” she relented, looking into their beautiful, soulful brown eyes, “more kibble and doggie treats coming up, but no more fighting, you hear me?”

Driving I catch sight of the port of Piraeus, the small lighthouse, canopied tavernas, yacht and dinghy rocking like pendulums keeping time. Greece even in winter has the subterranean vibrancy of an ancient culture, I feel at peace.