“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.

Jenny rolled over and over in her bed, muttering in sleep, moaning and groaning. It lasted for another hour till she finally woke up. It seemed like those few hours of sleep took its toll on her. Her pale face witnessed the agitation she felt. Was it because of the dream she just had or the latest happenings in her life, she could hardly explain. All she knew was that at no cost she wanted to get back to the world of her tumultuous dreams.

She left the bed, put on a dressing-gown and went to the kitchen. She believed the cup of coffee would pick her up and bring her back to senses. But it didn’t happen. Instead, for a few minutes Jenny was lost in thoughts and then burst out laughing.

“My hair is a mess.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“No, seriously, just look at me. The Beast would look a Beauty compared to me.” She laughed.

He looked at her as she asked and could not really figure what her problem was. She was perfect. Her composed face reflected a quiet essence of maturity and confidence. Her blue eyes sparkled with joy and could penetrate deep into his soul and read each of his private thoughts and dreams, except for the ones which he was too afraid to admit even to himself.

She came to that café every day. Three years. Three long years. Thirty-six months. One thousand ninety-five days. Or one thousand ninety-six if she included today. She came there every single day. Be it rain or snow she still came. In joy or sorrow, crying or smiling she would still come. She would come even on doomsday if she had to. Preferably alone. She loved being around people but going to this place was something which belonged to her only. And she would not change it for anything in the …