I could’ve loved the death of nature, embraced it like a friend, raised hopes after the fall, loved all things white.
I could have courageously faced winter, fought blizzards of snow with laughter.
But in January you went away.  For me you killed winter.

Salvatore Buttaci

Destroying the wagon took minutes. Starting with the handle, he broke it at the hinge. The final parts to come undone were the wheels. He was satisfied, but only a moment later his fears were overwhelming. Some other children, and what looked to be their father, were running his way.
offbeatjim wittenberg

For now, I will believe you are in there, growing.A slight tension across my belly, a whisper of lightheadedness makes me think, maybe. Maybe this time.In another week, the test will mock and jeer and shout its familiar mantra: no! no! no!
For now, though, I will believe.
Sherri Collins

We drive down from the cold mountains at night because the heat of the day in the desert will kill us. Any songs we memorize as we travel are forgotten beneath the sand where we bury ourselves in our final attempt at living.
offbeatjim wittenberg

The moon hung fat and gibbous as Nathan Draped Oliver’s cold, dead skin over his own pallid flesh. Shivering, he breathed in the scent of cheap aftershave, cigarettes and booze as sour memories trampled over his thoughts with bloodstained feet. Together, forever, he rasped as tears filled his bloodshot eyes.
Paul D. Brazill

David looks upon the supine form of his wife, lying in a drunken stupor on the couch. 
 He curses the traffic that delayed his journey from work.
 His horrified gaze returns to the frozen chicken, nestling in his baby son’s crib. 
 He opens the oven door – and oblivion engulfs him.
 John Saxton

He left just like he came, one messenger bag, one suitcase, one book for passing time on the Turnpike. No embrace, just a mumbled “See ya” in the basement of Port Authority, a slinking away from their possibilities. In Brooklyn, she set the futon on the curb that same night.
Karen Lillis

And so he’d buried his dad. Shattered, Vince switched off the bedside light, eerie darkness causing a shiver.
 Relieved his wake speech went well, he wondered how he’d cope. Where was dad now? So much vitality, dispersed.
 Suddenly he was engulfed by surreal warmth. Paradoxically he froze, then soon realised the overwhelming love therein. 
 ’Dad?’
 Col Bury

By Joe’s bed sits his favorite mug full of tea, now cold tea.  It’s days before they find his body and take him away. Another week before the landlord comes and removes the tea, pouring the fluid down the drain and throwing Joe’s favorite mug in the dustbin.
Liz Haigh