“Chicken,” he argues, accepting a plateful of my scrambled eggs.
“Egg,” I counter, despairing.
“Chicken,” he pluffs, eggs carelessly falling from his smug mouth.
Unzipping my skin suit, feathered breast bursting, I peck him solidly in the chest. Mouth agape, he flees the kitchen.
I hate it when he’s right.
Judy Crawford met the love of her life in a college writing class. They don’t always agree either.
Lily and Lile worked in the same library, and they had very different views on the topic of censorship.
“But don’t you think–” whispered Lily.
“Shh!” said Lile, shushing her.
“Shhhh!!” shushed Liza, one of their coworkers.
“Shhhhhh!!!” shushed Lily enthusiastically.
“SHH SHHHHHHHHH!!!” shushed their manager over the library-wide intercom.
This story was based on a prompt suggested by Nancy Cavanaugh via Facebook.