Stay a Dreamer, And a Schemer. For a Writer, Is a Fighter.
“What a nice web you have,” the fly said to the spider.
“Well thank you,” replied spider, innocently. “Won’t you come over and rest a bit.”
The fly thought a bit. The web was nice, gleaming in the light, and her wings were getting tired. Though her mother had warned her against spiders, this one seemed so nice.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I should be flying on home.”
“But it’s such a long flight. A rest would do you good, besides I could use the company. It gets so lonely up here. Please.”
“Okay, but I can’t stay long.”
“What is that in the yard!?”
“Oh hey Sweetie. You saw my new art. What do you think of it
“Mom. That is not ‘art.’ You are not an ‘artist.’ I can’t bring friends over with that ‘thing’ in the yard. What is it even ‘supposed’ to be?”
“Supposed to be? Hmmm. It’s art.”
“Ugh. Mom, you’ve got to stop this. Really.”
“Well, if you don’t like it, don’t worry. I’ve already got a sale for it.”
Shelley looked at her dumbfounded. “A sale? How?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe, I ‘am’ an artist.
Lanny scowled at the boy eyeballing her wares through the window. Surely, he was thinking of stealing.
Snow fell lightly, but it was warm inside, and business was good. All was well.
The boy shivered. An act? Probably. Would he make it through another night? Surely.
Turning a knitted toboggan in her hands, she considered, just for a moment, taking it out to the boy. She imagined his excitement as he donned the cap.
But she was a businesswoman, not a charity. Replacing the toboggan, she turned from the boy at the window, and a bit of her soul died.
#FridayFictioneers is a weekly writing post up hosted by Rochelle over at rochellewisoff.com/. You should go check out her page and maybe even post your own 100 word story.
It’s funny, the things noticed at the end of the world.
The sand on the floor beneath your jeans, pictures of people you never met adorning the house you’re holed up in, and reflections in a well oiled double barrel.
The last working light on the street flickered to life as the day failed. Darla checked her bag again for shells and peered through the crack in the curtains.
They would come soon, but the light would hold them off.
Low gutteral growls signaled the beginning. Darla stilled her racing heart, and peered through the window.
The light winked out.
“But, I wanna go out and play,” Shane wined. He drug a plaid sleeve across his runny nose, looking up hopefully.
Sheyla looked down on her little brother with pity in her eyes. “Not gonna happen little bro. Mom would kill me if I let you go out there in the freezing.”
“Mom’s not here though. She left.”
“Why would anyone live anywhere else?” Fred smiled, yellow teeth showing through a graying beard.
“Not rightfully sure bout that ma’self.” Sissy smiled back her own yellow toothed smile, lifting a stringer of silver blue fish. “Purty good catch today.”