Lightly Polluted

He noticed, on leaving her
new house, that one couldn't see the stars as clearly
from this place.

Light Pollution.
Terraced houses watched her now, not trees.

He glanced back.

She looked diminished, almost ordinary in her new doorway.

Perhaps this was the perfect place for falling out of love.


50-word story and photo by Lisa Falzon

Pickled

You may well ignore those promises, steeped as you then were in wine when you made them.

But bitch I happen to have pickled your words.

Sometimes I fish them out, these orphan sentences preserved in brine. They sting like tears, but at least you can never eat them now.

50-word-story by me

Was challenged to write a love-story with the word 'bitch' in it, after I notice how often I use words of endearment in my microfiction. When you consider how every word counts (literally) strong words of love or hate, even just one of them, can change the flavour of these small stories entirely. It's like adding a strong handful of spice to a small pot of brew.