Two Sentence Stories

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.

This sentence is dedicated to all those unwritten stories, all those unfinished thoughts, hidden facts and coincidences that were unlucky enough to take place far away from human eyes ,therefore loosing any posibility of being recognized, explained or remembered. And this other sentence is only here because of the rules.

Now and then the widow looked above the pulpit to the effigy of Christ on the cross; staring at the trickle of blood that ran down from his crown of thorns. So much like Eric after the sniper’s bullet hit.