You do that entirely too well. Only in my dreams can I think like you. Behave like you. Perhaps, however, it is a good thing that I don’t. Otherwise, no one would ever know what love is. Read More »
I looked you in your eyes and you seemed sincere. What I was in search of was there, but not for me alone. I purposely loved you, but now I must purposely leave. Read More »
Today I share with you four short stories, each in five sentences. Enjoy.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
© LeTara Moore, 2017
She hated the cleanup required after frying food. Cleaning up and disposing of the leftover cooking grease was enough to deter her from doing it on a regular basis. The Brothers Johnson’s Strawberry Letter 23 playing in the background in harmony with the sizzling catfish grease coupled with the smell of hot sauce, collard greens, and cornbread took her to a place she rarely revisited. She inhaled and remembered back home. Nothing like the warmth of the kitchen to take her there to water her roots.
She’d been here for years; dare she leave now? Her tears had flooded the house in which they lived, yet she stayed afloat due to the life-preservers known as her children. She’d had a mind to set the place on fire, but salt around the house did the trick. He had caused enough fires, so now he could burn in them. She was gone.
© LeTara Moore, 2016
The thought frightened him. He would no longer be alone, as there would now be an extension of himself roaming about. Just like an egg, his seed would need to be handled with care.Read More »