Wounded

Today I share with you four short stories, each in five sentences. Enjoy.

Truth-withholder

He didn’t have to lie. She didn’t ask. He lied anyway. Now he would have to face her wrath, however it may manifest. Too bad.

Unfunny

Did he think it was funny to stand her up? Surely, it couldn’t have been a joke. She didn’t find it funny. Still, she’d continue to set up dates with him just to see if he’d show up. Eventually, she got tired and told her own joke.

Rejected

How could she make him like her again? She’d made a fool of herself on more than one occasion trying to appease him. She couldn’t handle his rejection. So, she’d work her magic. And he would feel it.

Punctured

There was a hole there now. She had opened it, but rejection and disappointment closed it. Betrayal ripped a hole in it. Who knew whether it was a good or bad thing to be open unintentionally. Both the heart and the ego had been torn.

 

© LeTara Moore, All Rights Reserved

 

Puncture

Miss Champion

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She relished in her perceived victory. She had him. They didn’t. It was a hard- fought battle, but she won. Now she had him—all of him.

© 2017 LeTara Moore All Rights Reserved

Champion

Abstract Costs

She crunched the numbers. She had practically squeezed the life out of them. She had options, but was never good with decision-making. Now it was do or die. Get the riches or die inside.

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© 2017 LeTara Moore All Rights Reserved

Abstract

Insecure

There’s always some foolishness involved somewhere. No matter how good you’ve tried to be or how well you’ve tried to straighten your priorities, there’s always something.

For instance, I took an entire year to focus on me and my life’s work. No relationships for me. The last one gave the impression that he cared, but he wandered about his life aimlessly and, well, I was trying to steady my aim. The one before him was only meant for fun, but then he started to become affectionate. Then I learned, unwillingly, that he was lying to me about things I had not asked about. Before him, I was interested and so was he, but he wanted to take ownership of me though he’d go weeks without returning my calls.

I’d had enough! I was still on strike until the day He walked in. A few weeks later he said he loved me. It would be all well and good if his female roommate didn’t exist. Hey, at least he told me about her, right? 

I love how intimate our time is together. The laughs, the closeness is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. However, there’s a huge cloud that looms and I simply cannot. Cannot what?

He’s shared some of that intimacy with her at some point, I know. Do they still share it? The arrangement is for financial purposes, I know, but I. Just. Can. Not.

Regardless of how often he says it, I. Can. Not.

I wish I could believe him, but I. Can. Not.

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© LeTara Moore, 2017

Doubt

Her Sacred Hideout

Her time was coming to a close once again. She placed her pen on the desk and closed her notebook. For a few precious moments and in a notebook page’s worth of carefully chosen words she released all of the cares of the previous weeks. The weight had been temporarily lifted until it was time for another ink fix. No matter how many times other humans expressed their love for her, nothing could top her sacred hideout in her notebook.

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© LeTara Moore, 2017

Hideout

Two Jobs

Opening her tired, heavy eyes, she took in the view of the ceiling. He told her that he loved her without any prompting. Did he really mean it? Maybe. All she knew was that her brain was in overdrive trying to figure out a more ideal scenario and her heart was unwilling to to be vulnerable to foolishness once more.

He asked to join her at her favorite hangout spot. The place was her home away from home. She knew his name, his passwords, date of birth and other vital information, all of it given freely. Perhaps extending an invitation wasn’t the worst thing she could do. She’d opened up more sensitive places already.

She glanced at the time. How much of it did she have to waste? She almost wished he would lie to her because as much as she desired the truth, it would be so much easier to drop him if he were a liar. Life was so much simpler when all she had to worry about was being tired from working all of the time. Now, her psyche was being put to work.

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© LeTara Moore, 2017

Overworked

Sour Milk

It was so offensive it made her cry. She’d wondered if buttermilk could really go bad. Now she knew the answer for sure. Though some things were rotted and fermented to desired states for consumption, there were some already sour that could spoil even more. So much for the buttermilk pound cake she planned.

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(C) LeTara Moore 2016

Pungent

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