By John Lane
January 1931 – After my “I do” went to William Tyler, he complained about my food. I added an ingredient to his tomato soup. Cyanide.
January 1932 – I gave my “I do” to Bill Brass. That night, he had a habit of snoring, and I had a habit of chopping his nose off with an axe. Such a fast bleeder.
January 1933 – In the morning, I spoke, “I do,” to Wendell Withers. In the afternoon, he pushed me in front of a horseless carriage.
As I haunt Wendell’s house, I realize …
I’m good at “I do.” It’s after, I’m worried about.
John Lane “writes because he needs to.” His work has previously appeared in Fifty Word Stories, 81words.net, Friday Flash Fiction and Ad Hoc Fiction. John is also a slush reader for Freeze Frame Fiction.