She said something about not trusting people who didn’t tip their bags of chips up so that the last little bits of crumbs would avalanche into their mouths. I said I was sorry. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t stop staring at her tits.
She brushed it away. Said she’d only invited me out because of mine. It was pretty funny.
We’d met at work. She came over on my second day to see how I was doing. I said fine, and she called me a liar. I was. It was terrible.
We went out for drinks at lunch.
He slid down from the saddle and let his horse graze.
Three days ago he set off after a couple of drifters. They’d shot their way out of the bank. Empty-handed. Killing a woman walking out of the General Store with fixings for dinner.
He’d picked up their trail the day before. Heading north and moving quick. Far as he could tell, they hadn’t stopped since leaving town. Once they reached the mountains, he’d have a hell of a time finding them.
His horse whinnied, and the world tipped up sideways.
The crash of gunfire echoed over the empty plain.
Prompt courtesy of Sue Vincent‘s #Writephoto.
The doctor left the examination room, the door closing behind him with a weighted, soft click. Dog stood up, bare feet against the cool tiled floor and got dressed. Later that afternoon, he sat at the kitchen table, letting his coffee grow cold.
They’d said it was supposed to warm up. But the sun hid behind thick clouds, threatening snow. In the other room, the television rang shrill. They announced that day’s big winner. Dog half-listened to their excited whooping and lively music.
His wife would be home soon. Maybe, he thought, they’d could go out for dinner. Somewhere nice.
Prompt courtesy of the Daily Post. Entered in the Sully Competition.
Something hopefully close enough to an apology fell out of his mouth. Like drool after a dentist’s visit. There was more to say. Before this was right. And, give her credit, she waited for more before throwing her hands up. He wanted to laugh. It made her look like a cartoon. Some instinctive self-control screwed his mouth shut instead.
Other please, ideas crawled out. Some from his stomach, and some from the conniving part of his mind. But she was right when she said none of them were from his heart.
All it does is pump blood though, he thought.
“The thing about adulthood,” he said, tossing an empty can across the kitchen and missing the recycling bin. “Is that you don’t really grow up.”
He stood up, keeping one hand on the table for balance and walked over to where the can landed, and wiped up the small puddle it left with his sock. After asking if anyone else needed a beer, and then grabbing one just for himself, he continued the thought.
“All you can do is prepare and anticipate how you’ll react to most situations. Try to limit the damages. Because you realize you won’t ever change.”
Prompt courtesy of the Daily Post.
Keeping up with, or ahead of, what had been co-opted by the masses became too difficult, and Sheila just stopped. But soon found out that giving up was the next big thing. One day, at the kitchen counter, with a piece of cake, never tasted but carefully obliterated by her fork, in front of her, she wondered if maybe she’d been travelling along a set course.
Using the stars, she hoped, because that idea had a little romanticism to it.
This, and last, month’s fashion magazines stuffed in her mailbox. Hundreds of unread emails and unnoticed notifications in her inbox.
We tried to minimize our lives. Only keep what was incredibly important. Stop buying thing we didn’t need. We used words like spartan, austere, and liberating. This philosophy could be applied to our inner lives as well. We made a conscious effort to stay quiet, or speak simply as we walked through the near bare rooms of our home.
But we still felt weighed down. And during one silent communion over dinner, we decided to leave the city. Only take what we could carry.
Somewhere beneath a swaying pine, we decided this was something we each had to do alone.
Prompt courtesy of the Daily Post.