Tales of Romance: Short Stories, #2

By Cindy Tomamichel

Explore the strange paths that love travels in this collection. An eclectic mix of later in life love, angsty poetry, comedy, tragedy, memory and the paranormal.

 

A fish laden comedy. An ode to beautiful men, The love of a forest god. What happens after the funeral? An eternal love. Finding a new path. Autumnal thoughts. Rescued from the church. Windows and past loves. A fresh start after grief. An appointment that must be kept. A chosen fate. Last memories of love. What will she find in the moonlit forest? Even a heart of stone yearns for forgiveness. The last journey.

 

Escape the everyday with eighteen short stories, flash fictions and poems.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troglodyte Press
• Release date: Mar 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393207474

Cindy Tomamichel

Cindy Tomamichel is a multi-genre writer. Escape the everyday with the time travel action adventure series Druid’s Portal, or science fiction and fantasy stories. Discover worlds where the heroines don’t wait to be rescued, and the heroes earn that title the hard way. She is also the fiendish mind behind the empire of The Organized Author. She is bent on world domination ... hmm, sorry, did I say that out loud?  ... making life easier for authors by sharing tips that can streamline their author platform. Are you a writer? Grab my free NaNoWriMo guide: NaNoWriMo Ready. Sign up to my newsletter via my website and receive a free short read. While there, check out my blog on world building for scifi, fantasy, and romance writers.

Book preview

Foreword from the author

Romance writing is like a favourite old book – filled with hope like the faded remains of a pressed rose. Hope that young love will not turn sour, that there is someone for everyone, and hope that love can be found at any age. The memory of a past love can be enshrined in the heart, a time that can brighten the darkest hour and give strength in the most impossible situation. A present love can be the start of a great adventure.

For me, that is what reading can do – give you an adventure. A journey into the mind and heart of another.

This collection has short stories, flash fiction and a poem or two that meander around exploring youth and age and rubbing shoulders with tragedy. But there is hope, and there is humour amongst it as well.

I’d like to thank the writing groups over the years for providing random words that exploded into stories.

For readers – never forget the power of a kind word to the ones who dream of impossible yet extraordinary other worlds.

Cindy Tomamichel

Website: https://www.CindyTomamichel.com

A Decidedly Fishy Tail

W hat fish does an old maid long for?

I groaned. My uncle, Mortimer Fish, had a serious penchant for woeful fish jokes. I just couldn’t humour him anymore.

What are you carping on about now? I riposted. He looked hurt, and my resolution wavered.

I was just trying to add a ray of sunshine into your dull life, he replied, rolling his bulbous eyes.

Well, don’t skate around the issue. If you think you can fix my problems, spit it out, don’t bait me. I glared at him, longing to knock off his top hat and monocle and trample them into the ground. Gloria had just thrown me back into the pond, but it was her bigger fish remark that had me green around the gills.

He leaned forward watching me. You look like a puffer fish – all blown up and covered in prickles, my boy. Need to calm down dontcha know. He wrestled his worn copy of Fish Species of Middlesex out of his pocket. It says here...

But that was it. Years of fish jokes swam through my mind as I leapt on him, getting a grasp on his throat like a lamprey eel. His eyes bulged further and further until he reminded me of my dear Aunts guppy fish, Ivan.

I paused.

I had loved Ivan. The sweet little bubbles hat he used to blow, and the way he would swim in and out of his plastic castle for hours.

What...what fish does an old maid long for? I stammered, releasing my grip.

Mortimer Fish picked himself up and allowed me to brush him down. Adjusting his monocle, he peered at me in some doubt. I wasn’t the first to try and gaff the old fool; Aunt Patience had laid him flat with a frozen halibut only last week.

Ahh my boy, her-ring, of course! he chuckled, the sound seeming to pop out of him in bubbles.

I sighed. Dinner tonight, Uncle? I’ve got some nice turbot.

Splendid, my boy. Your plaice it is then. I have written a new paper on the eating habits of the bottom dwelling mud skipper, I would value your opinion. He glanced sideways at me. Oh, and that dear little gel from the Aquarium said she was keen on reading it too... so if it’s not too much trouble...

The Aquarium. Gel... no, girl... woman. I clutched my head at the memory of red hair and a silly mermaid costume that clung in all the right places as she fed sardines to the seals.

I hope she likes fish jokes.

Ode to Beautiful Men

Isaw him yesterday

a face and form divine

a gift of masculinity from the Gods

who honestly must like a joke.

.

Hair that curled into the neck

eyes that in form were perfect.

A mouth a kiss from which you would

deed your soul to the Devil.

.

A body that was an old woman’s wet dream

shoulders and ass that distracted coherent thought.

Hands that deceptively hint at

an artistic soul.

.

I spoke to him today

was he mean spirited and vain

or just dull beyond belief.

A temple profaned by an ugly and boring thing.

.

What did I ever see in him

this icon of carnal delight?

The mistake I made it is true

I listened to him speak.

.

He takes up space, hands on hips and legs wide, just look at me.

And as he mansplains on

dirty cracks appear in the lovely shell

and an ugly soul peeps out.

.

Oh God, he is so boring too.

My eyes glaze as

the conversation turns to him once more

or did it ever leave?

.

I am older and less patient now

but still I dream the impossible dream

of a form divine

with a soul that matches the shell.

.

So listen to me sisters

and don’t let the pretty ones speak

keep them only as a pet

so long as you don’t look too deep.

The Forest of Long fled Youth

The days have long passed since I walked the forests they called enchanted. I laughed at the