It does not matter now, she thought. Nothing does. She will close her eyes and everything will disappear. The world. The tears. The pain. That was what she hoped for, that was what she believed in, that was what she had never tried before. Because if she tried and it didn’t work, she would have nothing left to have faith in. Because if she closed her eyes and the pain were still there, she would be broken. She would be destroyed. Ruined. Quashed.

She walked to St. Mary Magdalene’s clutching a tan trench coat around her body.
It was the coat he had given her just two nights prior to his death and far too big for her lithe frame. Stopping just below her ankles it would have dragged the ground if not for her stiletto boots. Nevertheless, the coat protected her from the bitter winter wind, just as it had protected her from the splatters of blood the night he died.

Tabitha creased her sweater once again and wiped her tears.
She didn’t want him to know she’d been crying. He’d hate that.

Her eyes searched for that familiar face in the crowd that descended from the escalator.
Must be any minute now. She clenched on the barriers that prevented her to rush through the customs and find Carl herself.

They met in a formal dinner. She was nervous. He was sweet. They both led very busy lives with very demanding careers. He managed to make quite an impression, until he took her to the middle of the floor, and asked her to dance the chicken dance with him. In a black-tie formal event. Utterly shocked, her eyebrows shot up as she asked him, “You’re joking right?”

She woke up and instantly checked the clock. 3 am. Not that bad, she thought. Yesterday it was 2 am, the day before she had not have any sleep at all. She hardly could sleep since he had gone. How could she sleep if he was not there. She was sitting on her bed, looking around, waiting, ready to see him enter the room. Though she knew he never would.

I do not want you to bore with all the details as you are sure excited to know the results. I only will tell you that we have received 27 entries, short stories and fiction, happy and sad, romantic and touching, some might even be real stories (you can never tell). All the stories were amazing and I do hope you will read them if you have not read them yet. All the stories are posted on our Facebook Group (you can join it by clicking here - http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=86909277471&ref=ts). To read the entries you only should click on Discussions Tab.

“Take up that Kentucky incense and smoke it, Bernerd!” the old woman said, pointing to the hand rolled cigarette in the ashtray of the fifty-four Fairlane, “A man of yer age and ya ain’t learnt better than ta’smoke.” She scowled folding over the top of her leather purse, “Old fool,” she grumbled.

Bernerd reached over and butted out his homemade smoke never taking his eyes off the night road. “Only and old fool would take an old crank like yew ta’the hospital in the dead’ a night, Ethel. Now hush, I’m in heavy traffic.”

“Because only with you I learned what happiness is.
And with you I knew this solace and comfort”, he whispered.

Silence was the reply for him.

“Because you were there when I most needed you.
And you stood by me when I failed. And it gave me strength to stand up”, he smiled.

Only gentle wind touched his skin.

“Because you made me laugh every time I fell down.
Your radiant smile was sunshine of my life”, he wept.

Only clouds were the witnesses of his tears.

Passing by the library Annie noticed that the secretaire was open. She hesitated but then entered the room; her husband, Michael, didn’t like her being in there. He used to say it was his workshop, a place where he was the creator and anything that could distract him was not welcome there. Including her.

Throughout the years she had gotten into the habit of not going inside and couldn’t really remember the last time she had stepped over the threshold of the library. She noticed that not much had changed within the years. The same bookshelves, same furniture, even the atmosphere seemed the same. In fact only the laptop on the desk made one realize they hadn’t travelled back in time to the 19th century.

Have you thought about it? She sat up.

About what?

She touched his face with her finger tips. The next moment he felt the velvet touch of her lips pass over his brow.

About what? He repeated.

Dogs are smart. I can bet they are smarter than some people. Have you ever seen dogs cross the road? They wait patiently with the crowd as if they know that red is a signal of a danger and green is a permission to go. Trust me, many people can’t tell the difference. They run a red light. Alone. In groups. With kids. I hate it the most when they run against the red signal with kids. Kids should not suffer because of their parents’ stupidity.

Yesterday at 11 PM Moscow Time I stopped accepting submissions for 55 Fiction Contest. The last 2 I received just 2 minutes before 11. During these 10 days I have received 40 entries from 33 authors. And it is way more than I expected. Initially I was worried that the contest might fail because I won’t get enough entries. I put for myself a number 20 as a number of entries which would make me satisfied if received. But as you can see the end number of entries exceeded all my expectations.

I am very happy to announce the very first fiction writing contest on The Colors Magazine.

As we all know contests are a great opportunity to share your writing and experience, to get valuable feedback on your creations. But more than that it is always a wonderful chance to meet people who love writing just as you do, to share perspectives and to learn. Yes, we do learn from each other and that’s the best part of all the contests.

The first contest on The Colors Magazine is dedicated to 55 Fiction. I am sure many of you have heard about it if not tried yourself. For those who don’t know or have forgotten about it I will explain one more time.