Her blue eyes looked down into his brown ones. His brown hand grabbed her peach finger.
“So beautiful.”
They were complete opposites, but that didn’t matter to either of them. Perfect matches weren’t based on color: eyes, skin, hair. This was a perfect match.
“Welcome home,” said the foster mom.
The baby dolls go with her everywhere. She cuddles the pale-faced one and croons, “Wittle sweet,” then kisses the dark-faced one and sings, “Wittle deaw.”
Everyone asks me why her babies have different skins.
I shrug. “She loves babies of all kinds.”
Why, they wonder.
I ask myself, Why not?
Twenty feet away.
He goes faster and faster.
They’re catching up.
Ten feet away.
He can hear them behind him.
Five feet. Four, three…
It’s over! He’s won!
The blue ribbon wraps around his torso as he wheels toward his wife. Who says you need legs to win a race?
“Guess who I’m going to be for Halloween this year, Grandma,” prompts my eight-year-old, freckle-faced granddaughter. She likes to twirl her long, blond braids as she waits for me to answer.
“Hmm. A centipede or house fly?” I guess.
She giggles. “Noooooooo, Grandma! You’re so silly. Number 42, Jackie Robinson!”
Recently retired, Marian Brooks has been writing some short fiction. Her work has appeared in Word Riot, The Short Humour Site, The Linnet’s Wings, Zest Magazine, and elsewhere.
The Little Steam Engine That Could was a celebrity! But it soon hit puberty, and like so many child stars before it, that completely ruined its career.
Before long, the LSETC was completely broke. It thought it could earn redemption by winning the Great Steam Engine Race, but it couldn’t.
The title for this story was provided by RagePyro.
The runners toed the line and prepared for the firing of the gun. Muscles tense, they tried to clear their minds and relax. Many years of blood, sweat, and tears had led to this moment. They felt woefully unprepared.
Then—
BANG!
They fell, their wish for freedom finally, permanently granted.