“I remember reading a six word story attributed to Ernest Hemingway, it said, “For sale: Baby shoes. Never worn.” And that started a curious wonder for sad six word stories.”
Painfully, he changed “is” to “was.”
“Wrong number,” says a familiar voice.
The smallest coffins are the heaviest.
Brought roses home. Keys didn’t fit.
First sentient robot: “Turn me off.”
Paramedics finished her text, “…love you”.
Introduced myself to mother again today.
“I’m faking Alzheimers.” said Granddad. Again.
Birth certificate. Death certificate. One pen.
“Just married!” read the shattered windshield.
Finally spoke to her. Left flowers.
Met my soulmate. At her wedding.
“I do,” she said, as told.
Found at Dangling Mouse.