She chose him.
I think what hurt most was that she didn’t choose me. I have nothing against the guy. In fact, I’m happy for him.
But why not me?
Did I use the wrong words? Did I smell funny?
Whatever her reason, I’ll recover. The world holds many puppies.
We called the dog El Pancho. I never knew why. Maybe it was the weird brown spot on his back. He had two lame legs and always smelled like rotting cheddar, and sat at the flagpole every day after school, but no one ever came.
One day, neither did he.
John Funk is Games Editor at The Escapist, and has been gaming and writing for most of his life thus far. He has far too many plastic robot models on his desk at work and thinks those dirty Horde can go jump off a bridge.
The residents of what was colloquially known as the 9th Ave. Bawdy House were sad souls. They had abrasive personalities, they ate their fingernails, and they performed their “Yes, pleases” and “No, thank yous” with their mouths and their hands, but never their eyes.
They were rescued, but never saved.
This story was based on a request for prompts in the form of three adjectives beginning with the letters A, B, and C. The adjectives abrasive, bawdy, and colloquial, were provided by @LorGraham.