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I'd like to be in on this dome. Its my first time!
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Oct 15, 2014 00:07
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| # ¿ Apr 23, 2024 23:24 |
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Are there any guidelines around when (other than the deadline) and how you post your submission? Does it need to be separately emailed or just posted here? Should I include a wordcount? I checked in the OP and didn't see anything about that, just want to make sure I'm following the procedures.
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Oct 16, 2014 18:57
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Not This Time 508 words He was always late. As a boy, his teachers would scold him for his tardiness to class. His parents would lecture him on the importance of punctuality when he arrived late to the dinner table. His friends wondered when he would arrive to their parties and their games. He always arrived, but he was always late. On the day of his wedding, he arrived at the altar, late, as usual. She smiled at him anyway and took his hand, sliding the golden band around his finger. They were late to the reception. On their last day together, she stroked his weathered cheek with a liver-spotted hand, skin yellowed and paper-thin. "Don't you worry about me. You know I'll be waiting." "I'll find you. I always have. I'll just--" "--be a little late. I know." She smiled and closed her eyes. He kissed her hand, and she was gone. He hated the schedule. Two pills one day, three the next. He could never keep up, and fell behind his prescribed routine. He wasn't surprised to hear the prognosis, but knew he'd probably be late to that as well. He felt a gentle nudge at his gnarled fingers as he dozed in his recliner. The white-flecked muzzle of his companion appeared, gradually, through the haze of his deteriorating vision. There was nobody left. Nobody that mattered. Everyone was gone. He was late, again. He watched the ancient retriever hobble to its bed, place its head between its forelegs, and close its eyes. "He's been good, hasn't he? All of us love him here. We'll miss him dearly." The nurse checked his un-taken pills, sighed softly, and put a cup of water to his lips. He swallowed reluctantly. His eyes closed, slowly. He felt a presence in his room and opened his eyes. A delicate hand on his shoulder. The bed in front of him, littered with worn toys, was empty. "Where...?" he rasped. "Down the hall. It's his time." came a tear-choked reply from somewhere behind him. Strength long forgotten came in a rush as he lifted himself unsteadily to his feet. "No. You can't. You're--" "I will. I don't care." One step, then another. Two firm but gentle hands gripped his waist and shoulder. He started to resist, feebly, then found those hands supporting him. Another step. Another. He stared at his own shaking, wizened hand as it struggled to turn the doorknob, unable to see through the frosted glass of the window. The door creaked open. He knew what was awaiting him. He was always late. A long, unkempt tail tapped a slow beat on the floor as he filled the doorway with his stooped frame. The needle was ready, the stick was all that was left. He was wrong. He sank to his knees, joints aching in protest, laying his head near the animal's muzzle. A gentle tongue brushed his bald pate, as watched the plunger depress through fading sight. His eyes welled as he squeezed a paw. He wasn't late. Not this time.
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Oct 17, 2014 02:30
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Not mentioned?
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Oct 21, 2014 07:33
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Thank you very much for the critique! I definitely was going for a simple story and agree that I could have fleshed it out more. Looking forward to participating more in the future. 
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Oct 21, 2014 22:16
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