It's too late to apologize. Too late for them to say I’m sorry. Life goes on they say but it doesn’t for me. They are gone and I am alive. If you can call this being alive .I am a shadow of my former self.
The driver that struck my car was drunk. He had more than one beer before getting in front of the wheel. It was probably closer to six beers. My husband and my children are separated from me. I can’t touch them .I can’t tuck my little boy and girl into bed and kiss them goodnight. He can kiss his wife every day and be with his children. I hate him with every fibre of my being. I would wish vengeance upon him. A biblical curse on him of a plague of locusts, or some such evil visited upon him; if it didn’t touch his family. It’s not their fault he drove drunk and killed. Starring at his children I know they love him, as does his wife, my sister. She’s glad he is alive, in the hospital and will get well again. Walk again; live again with her and their children. She wipes away tears I know are for me, but then she smiles as she looks at him.
“I am so sorry.” Derek keeps muttering like that will help.
I don’t forgive him as I prepare for the funeral. I am dressed in my best dress. It does wonders for my eyes. People are crying all around me and I feel like I should gulp back tears, but I can’t I'm too angry. I hear gasps as Derek has entered the church in a wheelchair being pushed by his wife. My sister begs my forgiveness and I bend a little. She has done nothing to me.
Someone else comes up to me and whispers
“Forgive.” in my ear but I ask “How?”
I stare at the people at the funeral and I feel their pain as well as mine. If I am to continue I must lose this pain, this anger. I must accept what I cannot change. It is time for them to take the coffin to the grave .I must tell them goodbye but I don’t want to.
“I am so sorry Charlene. I will never drink again.” Derek retorts crying and touching my arm.
All eyes upon Derek as the police interrupt the service and handcuff Derek to take him to jail. I should be happy, but I am not; all I see is my sister Karen’s pain and the children crying for their Daddy.
I whisper in Derek’s ear " I forgive you" and I am instantly encompassed in bright light, a corridor before me. As I travel down the lit corridor, surrounded by the illuminating glow which feels like love I hear...
“Goodbye Charlene.” my husband exclaims touching my coffin.
“Goodbye Mommy” my little girl and boy retort throwing a rose, before they close my coffin.
I am at peace.
500words
@SweetSheil

It’s too late to apologize. With every minute, every breath, every person in the room increases the infection. The virus is spreading. No amount of I’m sorry, or I didn’t mean to, is going to fix it. Only one thing can fix it. Me. If I kill everyone in this building, before any of them leave, including myself, I can eradicate the virus. My gun hangs at my side, begging someone to stop me. I think it surprises me more when no one really notices. How sick is that? Do I really want to save the world at the cost of myself? No, not really. But it’s too late to apologize, it’s too late to choose another path. At 5:17, just before packing up for the end of his day, Dr. C. Evans injected his rabbits. I can’t let him leave. I can’t let anyone leave.

I hope I brought enough ammo.

153 words
@Kimmydonn

“It’s too late to apologise and that’s why I’m going.” She repeated this over and over to herself as she pulled random clothes out of her draws and stuffed them into a case.

She couldn’t let it happen again, she just couldn’t. She rushed into the children’s room and started to grab clothes, toys and books – just their favourites; she could buy more when she got there. She rushed back to her room, trying to put them in tidily, but knowing that she just didn’t have time. He would be back soon.

She ran downstairs with her barely closed case, letting it bump on each step as she went, ignoring the pain it caused her hand. She let it land hard in the hallway and left it there as she hurried into the lounge to grab her handbag. She glanced at the clock and saw that she had to be quick; it didn’t matter if she was early to pick the kids up, she could wait outside - she just needed to be out of the house before he came off his shift.

She kicked herself again for leaving it so late, but she had been paralysed with indecision this morning, before she realised that she just couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t bring herself to apologise to him again, she had done it so many times now. And she couldn’t bring herself to look at his face when he came through that door, wearing the bruises like a martyr; all forlorn and put upon, reminding her again how she was breaking his heart.

He brought it on himself, just sitting there doing nothing, making her so angry. It was no good, she had to leave, it was best for all of them. She dragged her case out to her car and dumped it in the boot, running round to the drivers’ door and swinging herself in and starting up the engine in one fell swoop.

This way it was swift, painless, everyone would get a fresh start. She just prayed he wouldn’t try and track her down again like he did last time, and guilt her into returning.

She reversed out of the driveway sharply and pulled the car round to face the road, but when she turned to look towards the open road, she was confronted with his van, which was pulled right up in front of her almost touching her bumper. It was too late; he was here, looking at her through the windscreen, a smile dancing on his lips and a question in his eyes – and she knew, flowers on the seat beside him; red roses no doubt, her favourites. Damn!

445 Words
@PurpleQueenNL

A Troll’s Story
By Lisa McCourt Hollar

“It’s too late to apologize.”

I stared up at Shyll, my eyes narrowing. The creep glared down at me, his huge hook nose threatening to drip snot on me, if he didn’t wipe it soon. I couldn’t believe I had gotten this kind of reaction from the burly goon.

“Shyll, please get hold of yourself,” I said. Big mistake. The big lug reached down, wrapped his meat hooks around my waist and lifted me into the air.

“You get hold of yourself,” he growled, flinging spittle in my face.

Refusing to back down, I grabbed a handful of his green shirt, which was stained with something…I really didn’t want to know what, and wiped my face. Wrinkling my nose I glared daggers. “What the hell did you eat for breakfast, a goat?”

“You insulted me,” he said, refusing to be distracted.

“I did no such thing.”

“You called me an evil little troll.”

“You are a troll,” I said. “Or did you miss that the last time you looked in the mirror?”

“But I’m not little,” Shyll said, pulling himself up to his full height. He wasn’t either. Shyll was a respectable 8 feet, or somewhere in the vicinity, but his brothers were ten feet and his sister was nearly eleven. As far as troll’s went, Shyll was a shorty.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I shouldn’t have disparaged your height.”

Shyll looked at me, still not willing to forgive. “And I am not evil.”

“Shyll, what DID you have for breakfast?’

He didn’t answer right away, looking away a bit sheepishly.

“Shyll?”

“That old woman with all those kids.”

“The one that lives in the shoe?”

“Aye.”

“Wouldn’t you think that qualifies you as being evil?”

“She stole my shoe!”

“True,” I said, “she should have asked, but the last shoe she lived in was falling apart and you weren’t using it anymore. Didn’t you just buy new shoes from the cobbler?”

“It was still my shoe.”
-
“Conceded,” I said. “But now what are those kids going to do? You ate their mother…and no, you cannot eat them for dessert.”

“Remind me again why I don’t eat you?”

“Because we are friends Shyll and friends don’t eat friends.”

“I think it’s because you sing such beautiful songs.”

“That too,” I sighed as he sat me back down. “Gently,” I cautioned. The big oaf nearly put a scratch in my gold finish.

“Play,” he said, ignoring me. He obviously wasn’t concerned about incurring my wrath. Wrapping my fingers around the strings of my harp, I sang a sweet tune, one that I knew was his favorite. My thoughts drifted to Jack, the boy that had tried to rescue me from my captivity. I wondered if he had managed to escape with the goose. In the corner, Shyll picked up an old bone and cleaned between his teeth, dislodging a finger I thought I recognized as the cobblers. I guess he didn’t like the new shoes as much as I had hoped.

Word Count: 500
@jezri1

“It’s too late to apologise now, you useless sack of shit!” My voice was high-pitched, wavering. He rolled himself into a ball and lay whimpering on the floor. I gave him another kick in the guts for good measure. “You’re pathetic, you know that?” I walked away from him and started to pace up and down the kitchen. “Selfish, that’s what you are,” I spat. He started crying, so I ran back and kicked him again. Rage was bursting from my chest so hard it hurt. “You call yourself a man? Look at you!”

I left him sobbing; picked up the bottle of vodka from the worktop and downed the last of it, wincing as it burned my throat but wishing I had another one. I wasn’t drunk. Slightly buzzed maybe. I’d been quite happy on it until I realised the time and looked at the beef filet that was slowly curling up inside the oven like an old lady’s slipper. Who did he think he was going out with his work colleagues when I was at home cooking him a lovely dinner? How dare he treat me like this! I did everything for him, and this was the thanks I got.

He’d turned up at 9 with a sheepish grin and a drooping bunch of flowers. I’d told him to be home at 8.30. “Sorry about dinner, honey,” he said. ‘”I, um… I already ate.” I felt the rage burning through my cheeks and the smile slid off his face like the melted butter I’d poured lovingly onto his new potatoes half an hour earlier. “Katie−” he started, but I cut him off with a hard slap across the face.

He held his hands up like a shield to protect himself. From me? Jesus Christ, what did he think I was? A monster?

@SJIHolliday
304 words

“It’s too late to apologize,” I said. “I know. Yet, I think that’s what burns the most. All those souls lost, with no one the wiser.”

And now I stood on the deck of another cursed ship, drifting in the same cursed waters. The salty tang of the air filled my senses as I breathed. The stars above sparkled, the sky free of any threats of poor weather. I knew better than to trust a momentary image of the sky. The winds changed, and the tempests raged, with little regard for the ones like me bound to the Earth they tormented.

I turned a full circle, my eyes searching the black night.

“I am sorry,” I whispered.

“You’re assuming you have something to apologize for, then?” Claire’s straight forward words hit me like light slaps, and I slowed to a stop. “That whatever happened forty years ago must be your fault? How do you suggest anything occurred because of something you did or did not do?”

“I appear to be the only one who survived. Not just unscathed, but unchanged. Did I strike a bargain with the Devil?” The sheer dishonor of the idea made my stomach clench. I felt certain I would never do such a thing, yet I couldn’t deny the nagging doubt that I must have done just that. How else did I explain my current state?

“Jon,” Claire sighed. “You were rescued forty years out of your time.”

“How am I the only one alive, damn it?” I slammed my fist against the deck rail, reassured by the immediate pain shooting up my arm. “How am I alive at all?”

She made a sound of pure frustration. “Think, you jackass. You were rescued forty years out of your time. You sailed in 1840 and woke in 1881, right?”

“Yes,” I said, not entirely certain she wanted an answer.

“What makes you think others of your crew didn’t experience something similar? Maybe they lost ten years. Maybe they gained a hundred.”

The blood rushed from my face. “I—I don’t understand.”

“Time has no fixed meaning in this place. Everything is fluid and twisting. A day passes as easily as a century, and you’ve no control over where or when you come and go.”

“Such things are impossible,” I said, immediately rejecting the fantastic notion.

“Or as possible as losing forty years.”

“Claire, what happened to me—if it truly happened and I’m not just insane—can’t possibly happen all the time.”

“So now you’re just super-duper special? Is that right?”

The tone of her voice would make a weaker man shudder.

“Super…duper?”

“When was I born, Jon?” she said.

“I’m certain I’ve no idea,” I said stiffly. “I’ve yet to properly see you. You’re a hallucinatory figment of my mind, I suppose. Maybe none of this has really happened. Maybe I’m only imagining—”

Something icy cold slapped me across the backside.

“What the bloody hell!”

“How often do your ‘hallucinatory figments’ smack your ass, Jonathan?”

@caramichaels
500 #WIP500 words

“It’s too late to apologize.”

“It’s only 9:30.”

In her mind Jerusha sliced him into a thousand bite-sized pieces. But all she said was, “The damage can’t be undone.”

“You forgot this chair is a…. a TIME MACHINE! Your mind is a prison. Free your imagination, Jerusha. Let it soar! The Time Machine will set everything right!”

Water torture, thought Jerusha. Drop by drop by drop, for a week. No—a month. “You’re an idiot,” she said. “There’s no time machine. No superheroes. No fairy godmothers.”

“Not for some people, maybe. You and I are exempt. Just believe!”

“For everybody, freak. And you’re changing the subject.”

“You sound depressed. You should get out more.”

A gun? Too loud, she decided. Maybe a guillotine. Dull-bladed. “I’m out plenty. And I’m not depressed. Until today, I was as freaking giddy as a stupid annoying warbling bluejay.”

“And you will be again, dear Jerusha. My word as your faithful dentist.”

This time she chose poison.


@postupak
162 words

It's too late. To apologize for doing anything at this hour more than defeats the purpose, it calls attention to the fact that you're skulking around at three in the morning, no matter what time zone you're in. Nwark was on UST, just like all the other orbitals, but with so many dirtside contacts, it was an all-hours operation.

That didn't mean that there weren't slow zones, and entire decks where consensual "night" was actually kept. People need to sleep, no matter how wired they get, whether electronically, chemically, or both, and Twitch was definitely both. However, her downtime needs were about as minimal as anyone's, which meant that she was the perfect courier for our clandestine needs.

"Jack, I can't believe you still need me to do this."

"Who'd buy it from me?"

"Good point. You're too fucking ugly, no matter how charming I think you might be."

"You're a worse liar than I am a courier; you know that, right?"

She laughed, tucked the package into the long twist of her hair, and trailed a fingertip along Lucy's tail as she made her way out into the half-light faux nighttime of our deck'.

Lucy swiveled and extended one of her fine calipers to me, a half-centimeter data sprig clasped nimbly in it.

"You sneaky little bitch," I said with admiration. "Twitch is going to be awfully torqued when she finds out you lifted that." I, on the other hand, took it carefully to the workbench to begin working on extracting the data. I turned up the UV lamp and set it to pulse in response to audio input. Lucy had earned her dance club ambiance, even if it made my sensors itch.


#295
@etcet