Rip headphones off and click disconnect. Caller went long again, twenty minutes left and my lunch sitting on the counter at home. The chalkboard tallying up sales to motivate us screams “LOSER” at me for the hundredth day in a row.
Dash down the hall, sliding stop at the vending machine, pause as it leisurely eats my paper bill, then adrenaline back as granola bar ordered, grabbed, and stuffed in mouth while sliding into home before end of lunch bell dings.
Who’s the loser now?
About the Creator
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More stories from Charlotte Stetson and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Lost and Found
My search ends in an impossibly old New England library, hewn stone, round turret. Wheelchair ramp inartfully added beside dangerously worn steps. It smells like a library: pages crackle when they turn; bindings lay flat; remnants of readers wander cramped stacks. Books, magazine racks and computer tables shoulder each other for space.
By Charlotte Stetson3 years ago in Fiction
Violence Begets
"Any last words, cowboy?" "None you'd understand, sodbuster." "Funny. That's Marshall Sodbuster to you. But I meant some last nugget that would help us in the adjudication of the myriad offenses counted against you and your gang. I wasn't asking for penitence."
By Adam Diehl5 days ago in Fiction
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The Shapeshifter in the Woods Malcom had lived beside the woods for twelve quiet years. They pressed close to his back fence, thick with old trees and darker rumours, yet nothing had ever crossed the line into his life. Not until the night he heard the dog.
By Marie381Uk 7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
This was kind of sad, but very clever!