“Yes!” Amy squeals as I slip on the ring. “I love you.”
She hugs me. I appreciate it, having agonized over where to pop the question. Fairbanks Park, overlooking the river. A perfect place for picnics, community activities. For private conversations.
“I love you, too.” I nestle my nose in her neck, draw in the smell. Sweet, fresh. Just her, I guess.
And that’s what normal people do. I know. No fan of surprises, I’ve been scouring TikTok to study appropriate behaviour.
Next, Amy will snap images of that rock to post online. #offthemarket. #togethernow. #Usagainsttheworld.
She pulls back, swipes at her cheeks. I panic, replay the clips in my head. Tissue? Comforting words?
I pinch my thigh. Hard.
Crocodile tears. A perfect execution.
Amy retrieves her phone and goes to work. Furrowed brows, fingers tapping until she passes her device.
“How’s this?” She points. “Check it out.”
I smile. Her finger is slender, the ring sparkles. The caption reads: #Thisiswhatforeverlookslike.
I try to push away my untamed thoughts, but they don’t budge. Forever may not be what Amy thinks.
Quinn was my first. A teenage crush, walking home alone. Jill, the second. One year, my knife, carving out flesh in a breathtaking pace. Both are buried now, a few feet away. As I remember the others, their faces blur and I wonder what’s become of them.
“Ready to go?” Amy asks.
“Are you?”
I take her hand, laughing at my well-played joke. Where will this end?
Nowhere good, that’s for sure.
Bunker Squirrel Magazine’s call out for flash with a dark ‘Ready for the Truth?’ theme caught my eye. There is nothing more intriguing than festering secrets hidden behind seemingly normal faces.
Lies, lies, lies. There’s a difference between slight omissions, deceit, and pathological liars with buried skeletons. Thanks to editor Tori Westminster for accepting Best Not Repeat What I’m Telling You. It was published May 2025 in Bunker Squirrel Magazine, available in print and online. Check it out here: https://www.bunkersquirrel.com/best-not-repeat.html