After raising three children together, Desiree and Mark reached a decision to go their separate ways. Now, thirty years later, they reconvene at their old home, which is about to be demolished. They both understand that they need to talk about things now, before it’s too late. 

“You made it,” says Desiree, wafting through the open door. Mark nods at her, speechless, mesmerized. She looks so serene in her flowy white dress, a daisy in her hair.

“I want you to know that I stayed as long as I could, for the children. For you. I never meant to abandon you. I fought as hard as I could,” says Desiree.

Mark takes a few steps forward to stand by her side, over by the wall where they measured the children once a year, on their respective birthdays. The markings are still there, colour coded—purple for Lucy, green for Christian, and pink of Emma. So many lines there, right up until Emma’s 21st birthday.

“I was so angry at first. I felt so alone after all those years,” Mark whispers.

He walks over to the old couch and removes the dusty white sheet before sitting down. He closes his eyes, and his mind takes him right back to that fateful day, three decades ago. It was in this very room, on this very couch, that Desiree took her last breath. He shudders at the memory. He had been out Christmas shopping. He knew the end was near, but he had wanted to be there by her side, holding her hand, in those final moments. Why hadn’t she waited for him to return?

“I wanted to spare you,” Desiree says, hearing his thoughts. She lays an airy hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry this has haunted you for so long. I meant well, I really did.”

“I know… And you kept your word.”

Before her passing, Desiree had left Mark a note, promising to return in this very place when his time came.

“Ready?” she asks.

He nods, takes her hand, and lets go.

Reunited, at last.

////

Intro by Curated Microfiction, 2024.

Story written for Curated Microfiction by Sandra Zappitelli, 2024.

Sarah McCloskey was not amused. This was now the tenth day in a row that someone had pushed an envelope under her door. The single sheet inside was always different, but it was invariably a love sonnet by Shakespeare, or Emily Dickinson, or Pablo Neruda. If she only knew the identity of the sender, she could decide whether to be pleased or annoyed. But as it stood, things were just creepy. She decided to lay a trap. 

Sarah couldn’t help but think that her admirer was someone she knew. Whoever was leaving the notes knew she loved literature. This left her feeling unsettled. Every time she spoke, Sarah found herself wondering if the person before her was her mystery man. She also couldn’t help but wonder if it was all a joke. After all, teenagers write each other love notes, not 42-year-olds!

Sarah grabbed her favorite tote, throwing her lunch inside as she headed out the door.

“Hey Sarah,” came Nolan’s gruff, deep voice from across the hall. She and the owner of the only movie theater in town had been neighbors—and friends—for years.

“What ’cha got there?” he asked.

This gave Sarah an idea.

“Oh, just a book of Wordsworth poems,” she lied. “I’m late for work. See you later!”

She walked over to the local Starbucks for her daily latte. She chatted with Remi, the barista, as he frothed milk. Surely, he was not the one leaving the notes—she was far too old for him. And yet, when Remi handed her her drink, she took a sip and said (to the coffee), “I love you simply, without problems or pride.”

She played this little poetry game all day, with her boss Sam, Jonathan the mailman, and Louis the gardener.

That night, a new envelope slid across the floor. It was green and smelled of . . . popcorn? Sarah’s stomach flip-flopped happily. She swung the door open and ran over to Nolan’s, dropping the unopened note as she did, not noticing the twin-tailed siren sticker on the back. Nolan opened and, without a word, Sarah brought her hands to his endearingly messy curls, pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

Remi watched, heartbroken, picking up the discarded note as he walked away.

////

Intro by Curated Microfiction, 2024.

Story written for Curated Microfiction by Sandra Zappitelli, 2024.

June had to admit that it was Ming Li's smile more than anything else, more than his physique or manner of speaking or carelessly tossed hair. She couldn't help feeling a little jealous when he flashed the same smile at just about everyone, but especially the women--the bank teller, the restaurant server, even the police officer that pulled them over one time.

She really didn't know what he saw in her, to be perfectly honest. He could have had his pick of available single women, with his gorgeous good looks, and kind demeanour. She had no money to speak of, and she felt that her looks were somewhat below average at best. She wasn't widely read, and wasn't a deep thinker by any stretch of the imagination--she spent hours watching cat videos online.

Yet here they were, walking hand in hand along the river that flowed through downtown, pausing for the occasional kiss. He seemed to want to talk about something, but was hesitant, so she encouraged him, "What is it, Ming? Just tell me, okay?" 

Ming hesitated. He was nervous. He didn’t want to hurt her, but didn’t want to ruin the surprise either. OK, out with it, he thought.

“Are you using me?” he asked. June looked stung. Oops. “I mean, why are you with me? You could be with any man you want!”

June was shocked. Had they switched bodies, in a Freaky Friday kind of way? What in the world was he talking about?

“I don’t understand,” June responded, frowning. “You’re goodlooking, kind, smart… Who wouldn’t want you? I can’t understand why you’d want me!”

“Seriously? Do you not own a mirror? You’re the most beautiful creature in the world. I love how your eyes light up when you see a cat. And how you just have to sing along to every song, and somehow you know all the lyrics—AND backup lyrics—to every single song.”

“Well I love the way you always pour the milk before the cereal so it doesn’t get soggy. And the way you talk to the sports teams on TV as though they could hear you,” June shouted back.

To anyone not paying attention, this sounded more like a lovers’ quarrel than a profession of love.

“I love the way you slurp your spaghetti like Lady and the Tramp!”

“I love the way you look in blue!”

Just then, a song started blasting from a nearby boombox. A circle of people formed around them, performing a perfectly choreographed dance. June watched in confusion as the flash mob grew.

“What is this?” she asked. She looked back at Ming, who was dancing too. That’s when she noticed the bank teller, restaurant server, and police officer Ming had smiled at earlier.

The song ended. Ming got down on one knee.

“I love you June. Marry me?”

///

Intro provided by Curated Microfiction, 2024.

Story written for Curated Microfiction by Sandra Zappitelli, 2024.

When Imani turned 16, her grandmother Makena decided it was time to tell her about her father, whom Imani had never met. Makena felt that she was old enough to understand. Imani's mother had died shortly after childbirth, and Makena was the only parent Imani ever knew. Imani sat on the floor at her knee, and Makena stroked the girl's head gently, as she spoke. 

“Your father was a good man. A very good man.”

“Then why did I never meet him?” Imani asked.

“Oh, but child, you did meet him. Not in the flesh, but He has been by your side from the day you were born.”

“I don’t understand, nana.”

“Your mother was the chosen one. Your mother was chosen to bring our next goddess into this world,” Makena said, lovingly stroking her granddaughter’s cheek. “Your father came to her one night. He talked about her admirable kindness, helpfulness, and selflessness—the very qualities that make a goddess. And her stunning beauty—a mirror of your own, my dear—would ensure that our new leader would have good genes to pass on.”

Imani’s big brown eyes widened.

“Nana, are you saying that I…” Imani let the rest of the sentence hang.

“My dear girl, you are the goddess of the air. Your father is the one and only Lord Windmeyer, who lives around us and brings this world to life.”

Imani exhaled the breath she had been holding all this time, and the air in the room began to sparkle and swirl. A muscular, manly, faceless being appeared then.

“Daughter. On this day of your birth, you are to step into your role as goddess of the air, breathing new life into the world. You shall find your chosen ones and grow our colony as your mother did before you, until the next perfect being is born. Then, you too will face the ultimate sacrifice and let your child take over. And you will join us here.”

Her mother appeared then, just as she looked in the photographs. She blew her daughter a kiss, and both vanished.

Imani stood with determination, kissed her grandmother, and set off on her new mission.

///

Intro written by Curated Microfiction, 2024.

Story written for Curated Microfiction by Sandra Zappitelli, 2024.

Detective Rodrigues was stumped. He knew two things: Becky Stone, a kindergarten teacher, had been poisoned, and so had Bob Hayes, the zookeeper of the city zoo.

Rodrigues' team had looked at everything: phone records, credit card receipts, personnel files at work, interviews with family and friends--all of which led to the inescapable conclusion that they did not know one another, nor did they have anything to do with one another. They probably never even met.

Yet the poison was the same, and their murders occurred on the same day. it drove him crazy. What could he possibly be overlooking, he wondered. 

“Detective,” Officer Linus shouted from his desk. “We have another vic’!”

“Let’s go!” Rodrigues grabbed the keys and ran out, Linus doing his best to keep up. The two of them jumped into the cruiser and rushed over to an apartment building about 15 minutes away.

When they got there, the scene had already been secured. The victim, an older woman this time, was lying on the kitchen floor, white foam dripping from her mouth. Her eyes were still open, and they seemed peaceful, unsuspecting. Whatever had happened here, Mrs. Wright clearly did not feel threatened. In fact, she looked… happy.

Linus walked around the room, taking pictures of every insignificant detail.

Crunch!

The men jumped, startled by the sound. Linus moved his foot, revealing the remnants of a biscuit. That’s when Rodrigues noticed the empty box of girl scout cookies on the counter.

Of course! he thought. There it was, the missing link.

“Bag it!” Rodrigues ordered.

Back at the station, Rodrigues briefed his team before filing the case away for good.

“So, Becky Stone had bought the cookies from Cindy, her ex-boyfriend’s daughter, who happened to be in her class. Her ex-boyfriend, as it turns out, was Bob Hayes’ neighbour, Lee. Bob had ruined Lee’s brand-new grass when he took home a monkey from the zoo for the weekend. Mrs. Wright, Lee’s housekeeper, had allowed Bob to bring the monkey over to play with Cindy. There you have it. Full circle.”

“Sir, are there any other poisoned cookies circulating at this time?”

“Lee confessed to tampering only with the three boxes in question. All the other cookies are safe for consumption. In fact, there’s a dozen boxes of them in the break room for all to enjoy. My treat!”

Case. Closed.

///

Intro provided by Curated Microfiction, 2024.

Story written for Curated Microfiction by Sandra Zappitelli, 2024.