Writing Forums

Writing Forums is a privately-owned, community managed writing environment. We provide an unlimited opportunity for writers and poets of all abilities, to share their work and communicate with other writers and creative artists. We offer an experience that is safe, welcoming and friendly, regardless of your level of participation, knowledge or skill. There are several opportunities for writers to exchange tips, engage in discussions about techniques, and grow in your craft. You can also participate in forum competitions that are exciting and helpful in building your skill level. There's so much more for you to explore!

13-02-06 | Worst Valentine's Day Ever? (1 Viewer)

Not open for further replies.


Senior Member
[ot]I just realized that as I was reading the old posts! Sorry...I've been meaning to do this for a while, but haven't had the time to write. Today was the day though. :D [/ot]


Senior Member
Reassured loneliness

I don’t mind being on my own, he thought.

Just then the most amazing looking women casually walked passed holding an outrageously large, bright bouquet of flowers. He caught a glimpse of her sparkling smile – filled with affection for an unknown sender. Something ached within his stomach; hunger maybe. Nothing else.

‘Huh, look at the legs on that,’ said his boss, appearing like a wraith from behind the long lines of sports clothing. ‘Bet her mans rich, eh?’

Michael turned to his Store Manager, ‘yeah, ugly and rich.’

The small, balding Manager sniggered and mumbled something lurid. It was always the same. And somehow this man had courted a woman, married her, and sired two young children. How could the Universe let such a being have such beautiful things? He had the worst sense of humour, literally counted the minutes, if not seconds, of his staffs’ lunch breaks, and treated women with such distain and disrespect; Michael was surprised his wife hadn’t killed him in his sleep yet.

He would never do that. He would never treat – did not treat – any of the opposite sex in such a way (he only laughed and joked with the rest of the guys so they didn’t think he was too weird). He knew he could be a better boyfriend/husband than most of the males he worked or drank with, but, somehow, he was left alone once more during St Valentines.

Yeah, but I don’t mind being on my own, he reassured himself. He could do what he wanted, when he wanted. Play football or poker whenever; go for a drink with the lads every night (if he wanted); he could even sit eating chips in his pants watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy (extended version) all day long without anyone moaning at him – if he wanted.

Yes, he was master of his Universe, and no one could take that away from him. Well, there was no one there to take anything away…

Ever since his girlfriend slept with his brother; ever since he lost the balls to ask out a girl; ever since Valentines two years ago. The last time he spoke to his brother.

His small, cold, two roomed flat always seemed colder, even empty, this time of year.

But these things did not matter, not to Michael.

He didn’t mind being alone on the most romantic day of the year.


Senior Member
Teapot Tragedy
[an]400 words without title[/an]

He’d bought her a scarlet satin chemise the year before and watched, with delight as she’d modeled it, just for him, with a sensuous sashay. As she sauntered into their bedroom, each salsa beat of her hips reminded him of how her ass looked like an upside down heart. On the morning of the fifteenth, he’d said a silent prayer of thanks to Cupid and Pan for blessing him with a lover like Esther.

In September, Esther began drinking chamomile tea instead of spicy zinfandel wine. While she hadn’t shared any joyful news, Porter was certain she was pregnant and took up the laundry and shopping chores to lighten her routine. The late morning lie ins, canceled lunch dates and lacklustre evening meals were perfectly understandable in her delicate condition. Porter, naturally, made no overtures in their boudoir and Esther seemed ever so grateful when he began sleeping in the spare bedroom in October.

November arrived with Esther being captured by ginseng and ginger cravings which Porter interpreted as a precious expectant woman’s chemical imbalances. He’d brew pots for her quietly refilling the new fragile china cup she fancied.

She was so lithe, her svelte figure hadn’t thickened by December when she switched to Earl Grey laced with lemon and honey. She’d moodily lounge around for hours, in her tatty terry robe, staring into the abyss of tea leaves she’d upended in the Petit Point saucer. Porter told himself that moody rhymed with broody and whistled, tunelessly, while mentally discarding unsuitable names for his progeny.

One evening, in mid-January, Porter came home to discover she’d vanished. Their apartment was strewn with discarded remnants of their cohabitation. The scarlet chemise was balled up in a corner but she’d taken the china cup. Porter tore through the trash for castaway clues. In desperation, he took to steeping tea, inhaling the aroma and scouring the remains in hopes of a cosmic connection with Esther who still haunted his existence.

By Valentine’s Day, Porter’s life had taken on a bitter solo dance of come and go by happenstance. That evening, he brewed up the last of the mulberry tea she’d left behind. He poured it into a thick glass tumbler and watched the leaves spiral wildly from his incessant stirring. When he’d drunk down to the dregs he contemplated the soggy mess left behind and thought, Fortune telling is a mug’s game.

[ot]This was rewritten from a flash fiction I'd done in 2005 and altered into a Valentine's Day tragedy because I love the punch line. Besides, I haven't posted fiction here at the forums in ages. This is not to be taken as an entry but I couldn't resist participating in some capacity other than rebellious.[/ot]


Senior Member
As She Waits

As She Waits

Valentine's Day was nothing like she had expected. Chelsea waited at every available line of communication. She stood at the window, watching the cars fly by, probably filled with the fragrant odors of perfume and roses as couples raced to their favorite restaurants. She sat beside the home phone as she stared at her cell phone, waiting for a ring, a vibration, a glimmer of hope. Chelsea turned the computer on, turned it off. Turned it on...and turned it back off. She waited.

Nick couldn't have forgotten, could he? True, he did have classes all day but surely he wouldn't have forgotten entirely, surely. The sun rose high in the sky, illuminating the joyful faces and sparkling eyes of women everywhere. As the sun sunk low beneath the horizon, kissing the sky and making it blush a dusty pink hue, bedrooms were filled with moans of ecstasy blinded couples. Still, Chelsea waited; the sound of reality shows filled her room.

Finally her phone rang. She grabbed it, put it to her ear, expecting the voice of her beloved. Chelsea was met with a voice quite similar to that of Nick's...his brother's.

So close, but not quite...

The joyful, expectant shine dimmed from her eyes as she listened to Nick's brother. Yes, he was on his way now with a gorgeous rose and a box of chocolates for his baby sister...hey, they were practically family. Yes, he had seen Nick at school. No, he didn't know where he was but boy, oh boy, did those girls get him a lot of stuff...

Chelsea listened to his brother as he continued, but unbeknownst to her a decision was being made inside of her. Her heart rose up, from which tiny slivers of broken shards fell. It cried out, begging, pleading for her next move, for her next decision. It was Valentine's Day and her shattered heart waited. She waited. They waited.
Last edited:


Senior Member
Experience Observations

Experience Observations

Abigail didn’t usually go to the mall. She was in her seventies, and liked to spent Valentine’s Day with her grand children, but they were grown now, with sweethearts of their own to woo. So rather than stew regretfully, she thought perhaps a stroll. Maybe pick up something nice to gift herself with.

She passed by a happy couple, talking and laughing. They were young, and looked very good together. There was a sort of natural ease between them, a connection the older woman had had with her husband of 45 years, before he passed five years ago.

Abigail was so grateful to those youngsters for reminding her how wonderful love and romance could be.

After a little while of drifting in the same direction as the young lovers who had shared a soda and a box of rich chocolates with each other along the way, Abigail and the pair made their way to the end of the mall.

“It’s taken me a while to understand what passes for romance these days, but take it from an old woman's experienced observations, nothing changes when it comes to couples who are really happy together.” Abigail mentioned to a woman sitting next to her, as the couple gleefully advanced to the video arcade across the way “I never thought of games like these as a proper date, but anything can be romantic now, I suppose.”

“I don’t know,” the woman answered with a strange sort of disinterest “I don’t like video games.”

“Waiting for a date then, dear?” Abigail wondered curiously “It is Valentine’s Day after all.”

“Well, I came here with my husband and we got separated an hour ago.” The woman explained with a sigh “I’ve been looking for him without success so I’m here waiting for him and—oh, there he is.”

The young woman gestured to the video arcade, and Abigail felt an embarrassed flush come over her.

“Well, of course, my best friend would find him.” She went on to say, as the young ‘lovers’ Abigail had observed acknowledged, and then went on to ignore the ‘wife’ “Christ, how they love their video games. I’ll be waiting here another hour…”

Indeed, she would be waiting for the game’s end, for a very long time. And judging from her forlorn expression, she knew it.

Not knowing what to say, Abigail sadly went on her way.
Last edited:


Senior Member
Happy Valentine's Day....

Happy Valentine's Day....

My boyfriend and I broke up right before Christmas. I'm still very much in love with him, but he told me that he still wanted to be good friends with me. We just haven't talked as much as we used to since then.

To add some background information: I'm a cheerleader, and there is a girl on my squad named Tara. She has always been nice to everyone, but she is the biggest ditz. Throughout the month of January I noticed that her and my ex started becoming close friends: laughing together in the halls and talking to each other more. It wasn't all the time, though, so I never thought much of it. Then came Valentine's Day.

The morning was actually pretty good. Of course I missed my ex and I wished I could be spending Valentine's Day with him, but I was coping. I made it to lunch, and then everything fell apart.

After eating, I took off down the hall to go to my locker. In the hall I met with one of my friends, Lacy. She asked me, "Have you heard about Eddy?" I told her no, I hadn't. She then informed me that he had asked Tara to the prom this April. She thought I already knew.

A bit more background information: He didn't take me to the prom when we were together, and this year he's taking her AND getting a limo. I just had to find out that day.

During my next class, I felt it coming. I put my jacket over my head so no one would see me cry.
Last edited:


Senior Member
A Song of Diamond

Diamond Dreams

The card slammed to the table, and I looked into her eyes. They were tipped with silver, and I knew she’d given herself away. The dice was spinning in time to the music.

The night was young, and still bursting with promise. I could feel the rhythm of the beating lights above, a waltz marching to climax. Diamond-like, the lights flooded her face with prisms, decking her in rainbows and spirals of glamour. It was the sort of beauty a woman could only have for one or two nights in her life. And never during the day – sunlight is too honest.

I knew this was my time. She’d given herself away, and this was my moment – now, I would steal her heart.

“Sixty-eight thousand,” I said, smiling to her.

She matched, and we played. In the background, I could hear the musicians pick up the pace. There was something flowing through me, like lady luck herself. Clouds danced through me, and I couldn’t lose.

But I did, of course. Those eyes were tipped with silver and I’d given her gold. It was, I knew, something I’d regret in the morning.

Yet the music was strong, and her face was sketched like the dream of an artist. An aurora on ice, swimming in shattered light and water. I was taken in, baited and hooked. It was pure, liquid poison. It was like a dream, I was drifting in a dream.

It was, of course. So I woke up, and it all melted away into the night. It was Valentine’s night, but I was alone and she was gone. Drifting, floating, pearling away into dream.
Last edited:

Chris Miller

WF Veterans
Joanne’s Artistic Floral Arrangements and Gifts

My instructions to Joanne of Joanne’s Artistic Floral Arrangements and Gifts were very specific. As assistant manager of a busy Subway restaurant franchise, I can assure you that I am well trained and versed in providing direction that is clear and concise and understandable by anyone whose mental capacity has not been congenitally compromised.

To my loving wife: a wonderful mother and devoted partner.” That is what I wrote on the card that was to be affixed at no extra charge to a dozen long-stem red roses with baby’s breath and delivered to 120 Devonshire, Appt. 302. It’s not brain surgery.

(It was hard wording the “mother” part without making it sound as if she were my mother too, probably because her constant bitching about all the cooking and cleaning and picking up after me and whatnot has made me overly sensitive in this regard. But we do have four kids: two boys and two girls—the youngest still at home. [None on the way though, thank god, ever. Mary got her tubes tied back when we still had sex.] So I thought I should at least mention the mother part of her job. And Joanne of Joanne’s Artistic Floral Arrangements and Gifts acknowledged that it was a wonderful sentiment, thought it very well penned too.)

When one of my part-timers has demonstrated the kind of dedication that transcends mere job description, has striven to go that extra inch, stayed to the last gulp so to speak, I like to provide some recognition, some token of appreciation. So the complimentarily gift-wrapped Belgian chocolates were to be delivered to 66 Hill West, Appt. 6 along with a note that just said “You’re sweet too, thanks for you know what.” It’s not quantum physics.

So if you are like me you are probably wondering why I am lying here on the kitchen floor next to an orange enameled cast iron skillet with blood on it, trussed like a rodeo calf, duct taped hand and foot, a raspberry chocolate truffle stuffed and melting in either nostril and a curling iron that I hope is not set on high protruding from my ass, wondering if Lisa will like the roses, kind of hoping she can’t read.
Last edited:


Senior Member
Just a reminder for anyone who still wants to particpate: LM will close at midnight Sunday PST - Pacific Standard Time. Which means there's still almost a day and a half left.

And thanks to all who participated so far, through judging and submissions.


Senior Member
gohn67 said:
Just a reminder for anyone who still wants to particpate: LM will close at midnight Sunday PST - Pacific Standard Time. Which means there's still almost a day and a half left.

And thanks to all who participated so far, through judging and submissions.

[ot]I just saw this now, I will try to come up with something.
I need to re-read the rules , seems like a lot of them.

Pacific time? goodie.[/ot]
Last edited:


[ot]might as well throw in a little tidbit. language warning[/ot]
[an]no teddy bears were harmed in the creation of this poem[/an]

Why I don't own a Shotgun

“Roses are red.
Violets are blue.”
Read that poem again
and I will hurt you.

Take all your roses,
your pink, fluffy shit,
and take that love poem
because it really bit.

Toss them in the trash
for all that I care.
Watch flames engulf them.
Especially the bear.

I don’t care that he got you
a candlelit meal.
I don’t care that your heart
was so easy to steal.

Don’t go and tell me
of the wondrous proposal
Or I’m likely to put you
in the garbage disposal.

I don’t care how his face was
when he was down on one knee.
Trust me, that’s not a picture
I’ll ever want to see.

Anything you tell me
will worsen my mood.
No, I don’t really care
if you think I’m ‘so rude!’

If you’re wondering why your tales
don’t make me swoon, sigh, or tingle.
Hi, I am ‘the ex‘.
You’re the reason I’m single.
Last edited by a moderator:


Senior Member
The Delivery

The Delivery

[an] ms word count is 400 exact including title, no green squiggly lines so I hope the grammar is correct [/an]

Today is February fifteenth, the day after Valentine’s Day, Karen has eaten all her chocolate, displayed the hand made card from her son. Karen always gets her standard card and chocolate from her husband. He never forgets to remember the day.

“I am going for tea next door, ” Karen announces.

Madeline lives next door. Her health is not as good as it once was.

Madeline was divorced when she was young and later she met a wonderful man named Roy and they spent fifteen years together that were ended by Roy’s passing after a lengthy illness. Madeline nursed him and looked after him as any wife would even though they were never married.

“How are you today?” Karen asks.

“Oh well you know, legs are a little stiff but I am glad my bones do not ache as I am on that new cholesterol pill the doctor gave me last month, would you like a tea and some cookies?”

“Sure, I have time” Karen replies.

“Madeline, where did the flowers come from?” Karen asks.

“They came from the florist” Madeline chuckles while stating the obvious.

“Really, who are they from, is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Well, it seems Roy made arrangements with the florist before he died to send me flowers for Valentine’s Day and each year one dozen arrive on the morning of the fourteenth. Have you not seen them the other years?”

“I assumed they were from your daughter but I see she sent a card and chocolates”.

“They are beautiful and you are very lucky to have this reminder of Roy’s love for you”

“I have to go Madeline but will be back later for a short visit”.

Karen walks in the door and asks her husband, “If you knew you were going to die would you arrange to have flowers sent to me every year on Valentine’s Day?”

“Umm, never thought about it to be honest”, Mike says.

Well it is the following Valentine’s Day and sadly Madeline passed away during the summer. Mike has gone to work and there is a knock at the door.

“There is no answer next door and I have a delivery for the women at 10 Elm Street, will you accept them on her behalf?”

“Yes, thank you” Karen said.

Karen later receives her standard card with chocolates and has a cup of tea alone.
Last edited:


Senior Member
[ot]Don't close it yet please, I know it's sunday, but I still want to enter and I still have to start. I'll go as fast as possible[/ot]


Senior Member
[ot]Oh I see, thanks, and does it HAVE to be about a bad valentines day? Or just about stinkin' love?[/ot]


Senior Member
[ot]Considering that Worst Valentine's Day is the prompt, I would say, yes, it has to be about Valentine's Day.[/ot]
Not open for further replies.