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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Character Based
- Published: 03/20/2015
Short, short stories.
Born 1951, M, from Wilmington NC, United StatesThe fire was pretty. Like an orange and red roll of crepe paper with a fan under it. He would have thought it was prettier, if he wasn’t the one hanging over it. The crepe paper was getting closer, his thoughts were getting farther away, but the screams were getting nearer…and they were his.
***
She put a little butter on the bread. She had torn a few holes in the bread already trying to smash it flat to put more butter on. After a moments consideration, she decided to skip the bread completely, and just eat the butter. You can make those kinds of decisions, when you are five years old, and like butter.
***
The dress itself was fighting a losing battle with: the wind, her will, her figure and the compound, compressed, concentrated pressure of several men staring at it while offering up bargain after bargain to the God’s who reveal women figures with just a puff of their breath. The dress tried to cling to the soft inner thighs, lightly tanned, highly oiled, and covered in sin, but, that left the back of the dress plenty of room to float gently up to reveal curves that would have made a Bugatti sports car blush. As the dress hurried to pull itself back down, to hint, and not display her assets, two buttons on the front of the dress were fighting their own valiant, but failing, battle to keep her endowments from freeing their constraints. Those watching the heroic battle between dress and bodice, were having their own problems keeping their eyes in their heads, and their desire from showing itself. Still…the dress fought on.
***
One of the blades of grass staring up at the big yellow daisy finally got up the courage to say: “ You are so beautiful. So pretty. Everyone stops to look at you.” The Flower looked down at the long green blade of grass…she puffed out a scent that to other plants, meant a smile. “Dear Grass, I do get the stares, and admiration, but when they choose to lay down next to someone they love, who do they choose?” Another puff, this one of a professional in one arena, pointing out to another professional in its own arena- how good it really is. The Grass, and all the blades around it, stood a little taller, a little prouder, a little more inviting. For both kinds of plants, welcome being loved in their own ways, and for their own purpose on earth.
***
It was the Old West. Of that, he was certain. Oh sure the time machines were supposed to be accurate to with a few weeks, but everyone knew that was pure marketing. He had come back to see the gunfight at the OK Corral, to find out what really happened. It wasn’t his fault, that he appeared in the Corral itself, just as first gunshots were fired. It was his tinkering beyond what the Time Tech set that brought him to close to the action. There was so much smoke, he didn’t even see the guy who shot him, nor the bullet that spun him around, back into the time machine. By the time he got back to his time, the bullet was gone, but not the memory. He never travelled again.
***
They sat next to each other in church. She was seventeen, cute as the proverbial button, and in love. He was eighteen, thin, with a full head of hair granted to the young, and seriously long eye lashes. She was wearing a mini skirt, after all, it was the sixties- he was wearing long pants, but could still feel the heat from her thigh… just an inch away. She knew it. He felt it. He put his arm around her, and as naturally as breathing, she slid over that last inch, and leaned her head softly into the nape of his neck. He hugged her a bit, and then let his right hand gently caress the outside of her arm and shoulder. She closed her eyes. He closed his, and leaned his cheek against the top of her head, and inhaled the smell of her freshness, beauty, and youth. She sighed. It was a good day to be young.
***
A young man sat on the bench at the bus station. Already sitting there was an old man, maybe fifty or so. The young man took out his ear bud, and said: “What?” The old man smiled. “I said: “ Is that Drake you are listening too?” The young man was flabbergasted: “You know who Drake is?” “Oh, yeah. In my generation he would have been called Dan Folgerberg , or maybe Bob Dylan.” “Who are they?” The old man smiled again…
“Someday, young man, your grandson will say the same thing to you, only he will ask: “Who is Usher? Who is Tupac? Who is that West guy you keep quoting..” The young man put back his ear buds. “Old dudes are weird.”
***
She liked his snore. A lot of her girlfriends complained about their husbands snoring, not her. She loved the deep raspiness of it, the very masculine sound…like a bear in winter in Alaska, it came across as a rumble not a grunt. It made her feel safe. She snored too, and it wouldn’t have surprised her at all to know he loved the sound. So dainty, from such a cute nose, that could only suck up a single molecule of air at a time. She loved when he said that, it made her feel special, intimate, something only he knows about. It made her feel even closer to him. Soon, the only sounds in the room were the matching snores, as -even in sleep- they were in sync.
Short, short stories.(Kevin Hughes)
The fire was pretty. Like an orange and red roll of crepe paper with a fan under it. He would have thought it was prettier, if he wasn’t the one hanging over it. The crepe paper was getting closer, his thoughts were getting farther away, but the screams were getting nearer…and they were his.
***
She put a little butter on the bread. She had torn a few holes in the bread already trying to smash it flat to put more butter on. After a moments consideration, she decided to skip the bread completely, and just eat the butter. You can make those kinds of decisions, when you are five years old, and like butter.
***
The dress itself was fighting a losing battle with: the wind, her will, her figure and the compound, compressed, concentrated pressure of several men staring at it while offering up bargain after bargain to the God’s who reveal women figures with just a puff of their breath. The dress tried to cling to the soft inner thighs, lightly tanned, highly oiled, and covered in sin, but, that left the back of the dress plenty of room to float gently up to reveal curves that would have made a Bugatti sports car blush. As the dress hurried to pull itself back down, to hint, and not display her assets, two buttons on the front of the dress were fighting their own valiant, but failing, battle to keep her endowments from freeing their constraints. Those watching the heroic battle between dress and bodice, were having their own problems keeping their eyes in their heads, and their desire from showing itself. Still…the dress fought on.
***
One of the blades of grass staring up at the big yellow daisy finally got up the courage to say: “ You are so beautiful. So pretty. Everyone stops to look at you.” The Flower looked down at the long green blade of grass…she puffed out a scent that to other plants, meant a smile. “Dear Grass, I do get the stares, and admiration, but when they choose to lay down next to someone they love, who do they choose?” Another puff, this one of a professional in one arena, pointing out to another professional in its own arena- how good it really is. The Grass, and all the blades around it, stood a little taller, a little prouder, a little more inviting. For both kinds of plants, welcome being loved in their own ways, and for their own purpose on earth.
***
It was the Old West. Of that, he was certain. Oh sure the time machines were supposed to be accurate to with a few weeks, but everyone knew that was pure marketing. He had come back to see the gunfight at the OK Corral, to find out what really happened. It wasn’t his fault, that he appeared in the Corral itself, just as first gunshots were fired. It was his tinkering beyond what the Time Tech set that brought him to close to the action. There was so much smoke, he didn’t even see the guy who shot him, nor the bullet that spun him around, back into the time machine. By the time he got back to his time, the bullet was gone, but not the memory. He never travelled again.
***
They sat next to each other in church. She was seventeen, cute as the proverbial button, and in love. He was eighteen, thin, with a full head of hair granted to the young, and seriously long eye lashes. She was wearing a mini skirt, after all, it was the sixties- he was wearing long pants, but could still feel the heat from her thigh… just an inch away. She knew it. He felt it. He put his arm around her, and as naturally as breathing, she slid over that last inch, and leaned her head softly into the nape of his neck. He hugged her a bit, and then let his right hand gently caress the outside of her arm and shoulder. She closed her eyes. He closed his, and leaned his cheek against the top of her head, and inhaled the smell of her freshness, beauty, and youth. She sighed. It was a good day to be young.
***
A young man sat on the bench at the bus station. Already sitting there was an old man, maybe fifty or so. The young man took out his ear bud, and said: “What?” The old man smiled. “I said: “ Is that Drake you are listening too?” The young man was flabbergasted: “You know who Drake is?” “Oh, yeah. In my generation he would have been called Dan Folgerberg , or maybe Bob Dylan.” “Who are they?” The old man smiled again…
“Someday, young man, your grandson will say the same thing to you, only he will ask: “Who is Usher? Who is Tupac? Who is that West guy you keep quoting..” The young man put back his ear buds. “Old dudes are weird.”
***
She liked his snore. A lot of her girlfriends complained about their husbands snoring, not her. She loved the deep raspiness of it, the very masculine sound…like a bear in winter in Alaska, it came across as a rumble not a grunt. It made her feel safe. She snored too, and it wouldn’t have surprised her at all to know he loved the sound. So dainty, from such a cute nose, that could only suck up a single molecule of air at a time. She loved when he said that, it made her feel special, intimate, something only he knows about. It made her feel even closer to him. Soon, the only sounds in the room were the matching snores, as -even in sleep- they were in sync.
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