Her toes were covered with sand, like little appetizers. The nails painted blue; ever the rebel, she.
A wave hushed in, foaming. “I’m leaving you,” she said calmly. “I’m tired of all your crap.”
Another wave slid up the beach, washed the sand off her feet, washed her guilt away.
Gregory Von Dare is a writer and dramatist specializing in crime and speculative fiction, often with a humorous or ironic twist. He attended Chicago City College and the University of Illinois. While living in Los Angeles, he worked for Universal Studios, Disney, and Sony Pictures as a talent manager and developer. He studied writing with Edgar winner John Morgan Wilson. Recently, his short stories were featured on the Soft Cartel and Horror Tree websites. Greg is an Affiliate Member of Mystery Writers of America. He lives outside Chicago where certain people will never find him.
Water reflected like a mirrored surface, flat and endless to the horizon and blending with the haze of a summer sky. I threw a stone and disrupted the stillness, as I had with my sister:
“Mom loved me more!” I said.
A verbal stone: ripples spread and peace was lost.
Gord Lysen is an only child with two older sisters.
Billy Goat was waiting in the yard when Mrs. Wolf came strolling by with her son in a stroller.
“Good morning,” said Mrs. Wolf.
“Have you seen my squirrel?” said Billy, icily.
“Your little pet?” Something inside the stroller squeaked desperately. “Ah,” said Mrs. Wolf. “Well, boys will be boys!”
Jane liked yogourt.
Jake liked pudding.
They had little spats about which one was better pretty frequently. Mother told them they shouldn’t spit, though, so they started having tiffs, instead. Mother told them tiffs were an outdated file format, though, so they started bickering instead. Mom said that was ok.