Not an Ode

I wake to an empty, cold half of the bed where the pillow still sagged as if your head had rested there overnight. Your dark brown fur slippers that we bought over Christmas still sits beneath the bed frame, collecting dust where your feet used to slip. Did I mention that I get up much later than I used to? It’s not that I have become lazy and despondent with life but I simply cannot decide what to do with all this time. It is as if time had stopped and while I slept I suddenly became the center of it all.

I tried to keep up our habit of taking morning walks, but I think more people have moved onto our street – the crunching of leaves and the rolling of tires have become more evident. So instead of taking those walks, I lie in bed and make up my mind about what kind of breakfast I would like to have, sunny side up or scrambled.

I think about calling Amy all the time, but I’m not sure what to say to her. She probably feels the same way because the last few times she called there were such stretches of silences. It has been twenty-three days since I’ve talked to her. I often try to imagine what she must be doing as I sit in my napping chair, the one facing yours by the fireplace. The Christmas stockings we put up for the kids this year have been left untouched.

The neighbors dropped by yesterday to check on me. They said they were worried because they have not heard or seen me in the past week. I don’t know why they were so concerned. I definitely went out to the garden to weed the plants on Wednesday, and I have been good about taking in the mail and your newspaper. Nothing much has happened lately in the world, but I did see an obituary for Bill Hopkins. They didn’t even invite me to his funeral, but I sent over pie anyway.

I haven’t gotten rid of the bush in our front yard even though I had claimed that it would be the first thing to go. I always thought it was a very ugly thing but you had this unnatural love and appreciation for it. I saw Sarah’s dog peeing on it a couple of times in the past, but I didn’t want to tell you because I was hoping the dog pee had enough acid to just kill the darn bush. Who knew it would have such resilience to outlast…you.

Not an Ode

Chekhov Imitation Piece

figured i’d go the easy way by writing all 50k in short stories 😀 they have novels with all short stories don’t they! muhahahha 😀 ok, this probably cheating, but that’s alright; this is more for fun anyway!


Shortly after dinner, Mitchell Evans suggested they go out for a walk. It was a beautiful evening for a walk. The summer heat had just past, and the cool wind blows lightly, cradling the trees in its arms. The lake before them was a still reflection of the sky above them, and the round moon that peeked early that night. Lauren Perry stood by the water, and watched the rare wrinkles in the satin blue. Her pink chiffon dress was semi-transparent, complete with ruffles and bows. In the soft moon light, she turned and looked at him with her honey-dew eyes. She clasped her hands over her mouth and whispered:

“Do you love me?”

He pointed towards the muddy trail huddled between the tall pine trees, and said:

“C’mon, let’s take that road.”

She looked down at her pointy white shoes. Then she looked up at him and obeyed.

Continue reading “Chekhov Imitation Piece”

Chekhov Imitation Piece