“I’m just a lonely cowpoke,” Billy admitted. “I ain’t no gun-totin’ hero, really.”
“Aw, shucks,” Milly muttered. “I was countin’ on you to save my ranch from Bad Bart!”
“I’m awful sorry, Milly.”
“Don’t be, darlin’. Truth is, I’ve been lyin’, too.”
“Pardon?”
“Y’see, pardner, I actually am Bad Bart!”
The spiteful wind was fierce and sharp. Ted tried to escape, but it chased him, cackling, and sheared the hair right off his head.
He snuck home, frantic with embarrassment. Naturally Melanie was the first person to stop by.
“You’re bald!” she exclaimed. “I love it.”
“Darn,” cursed the wind.
This story was based on the prompt “first person” at TypeTrigger.
Bradley loved Veronica, and he hated it. He hated his attraction to her arrogance. Mostly, though, he hated that she hated him.
Veronica hated lots of boys: she valued her spitefulness; but she especially hated Bradley.
They circled each other in ever-decreasing orbits, their gravitational forces growing, like doomed planets.
This story is based on a title suggested by Jonas Funk.
He’d been flirting with me for months. He always tried to make eye contact, and smiled extra big, and laughed at all my jokes.
When my friends asked, I said he “wasn’t my type,” and changed the subject.
Then one day he forgot to shave, and I fell in love.
This story was based on the TypeTrigger prompt “stubble.”
Bill never expected to find love.
He never expected Susan at the coffee shop to greet him warmly, smile eagerly, and wink at him while she made his latte grande.
Bill never expected it, so he ignored her, took his latte, said goodbye, and went on with his lonely life.
Chris Fries is a new writer, working to hone his writing chops. He is an Engineer by vocation, a guitarist by avocation, and a writer by compulsion. His writing blog is StratPlayerCJF.blogspot.com.
I asked Mom once why I had an uncle but no aunt. I figured they were a bundle deal.
Mom said, “Your uncle has three defining characteristics: veiny biceps, chest hair, and a fanny pack full of beef jerky.”
I still don’t know which of those is the bad thing.
Sunsy was a real chirp flirt. He went after anyone who had wings and a beak and laid eggs.
The dove turned him down gently.
The owl lectured him on Breed Loyalty.
The eagle just stared imperiously until he went away.
The peahen merely scoffed.
And then the pigeon attacked.
This story is based on a title suggested by @Vigafray and a prompt offered by @NekoDaimyo.
He just can’t leave, thank God. He loves me too much, knows how much I need him. The vet said he’d be long gone by now. Months ago, in fact. There was no hope. What better way to prove them wrong than to simply thrive, living on love and devotion?
M. Elaine Moore is a North Carolina-based fiction writer and poet. Her work can be found in print in The Island Breeze, and Outer Banks publication, and online at Foliate Oak Literary Journal, Four and Twenty, and The Camel Saloon.
Overwhelmed with inexplicable love, she holds her newborn baby to her breast.
She nurtures her child with tender, loving care through the years, through all the joys and challenges.
Even into adulthood, she watches this beautiful life with amazement and wonder, thanking the Creator,
Until this mother’s heart stops beating.
Brenda Thiessen, along with her husband, Harv, lives in Port Colborne, Ontario, where she serves with Operation Mobilization Canada. They have four children – three girls and one boy – and will soon have a son-in-law (and a nephew-in-law: me!).
He was charming and sweet, kind and wise. I told him so, and it made his face glow with pride.
But it was a fantasy. There were difficulties even love could not overcome. A great Dane like myself, married to a Pomeranian? Society’s hand was turned too strongly against us.
This story was based on a title suggested by @MaryHutson.