Photo Prompt © Amy Reese
by Miles H. Rost
A letter, received in the post on a Sunday
I am at peace. You don’t have to worry about me anymore, because I am doing what needs to be done.
I did what I had to do, to help you get the peace you never had while we were together. All of this, just to say “I love you” in a way I couldn’t before.
Don’t think bad of me for what I’m doing. I don’t care about myself. Never did. I only want you to be happy.
It’ll all be over in a minute.
My love and goodbye to you.
(Author’s note: I hope to be up for new things soon. I got smacked around by a cold last weekend. I hope to do a lot more soon. Anyhow, here’s today’s work!)
© Jan W. Fields
What’d I Say
by Miles H. Rost
It was all Marcus knew. It was all that oozed out of his pores. And as he sat at the piano, his back against the ivories, he looked like he was about to pop.
It was also a big problem. He held the letter in his hand, frowning at it. 13 names, 13 women, 13 calls for more money than he could ever make in a year.
He turned around and looked at the keys. He needed to find an outlet for all the sex in his system.
He found it in C minor…
I’m back, though still at limited action for a short bit of time. I will be up fully this week when I can pull my head away from other things.
copyright- Jan Wayne Fields
The young lady looked at the paper in front of her. She sighed, as she pushed the chair away from the old desk. Putting the quill back in the ink well, she stood and grabbed her bag that was sitting off to the side.
She expected that her husband would read the letter and get the message. She wanted to get away from the boring nature of life, and this would give some excitement.
She waited for his phone call. And waited. And waited.
She waited a year, and finally said no more. She entered the house, and walked to the study. Her husband lay on the floor, a pool of blood under his head, dried blood on the corner of the small table.
The letter was untouched.