Short Stories

These short stories are really just writing exercises to get the thoughts flowing. All of these have been published at http://www.childrencomefirst.com/ where they have a really fun monthly writing contest. In this contest, the first line is provided and you supply the story. The trick is to write something…anything, as fast as you can. The point is to reveal something important and interesting about the character in less than 250 words.

Can you do this? I’d love to see your results!

Come back every now and then. I plan to write more of these extremely short stories!

Big Fish

With July 4th coming up, I knew I had to make a choice. Be at Mom’s big summer bash, or head over to Dad’s first annual barbeque. Either way, I was toast.

It started with the divorce late last year. At first it was a few slammed doors. Then long shouting matches with them using words you’re not supposed to say around eleven year olds. Then there were court appearances where I was supposed to play judge in the parental popularity contest. After that came the tears. The long silences. The hurt looks.

Now they’re throwing parties. Big, stupid parties with too much food, too many people and piles of gifts, which I don’t need or want. They say the parties are just so we can have fun. But they know, and I know, the parties are not fun. The parties are really just bait. The parent who has the biggest, juiciest bait should be able to catch the big fish. He or she who captures the big fish wins.

The big fish is me.

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Teaching Tigers

The look in the tiger’s eyes was one of mild boredom as he studied me from behind the heavy metal bars of the local zoo.

In each hand I held a squirming first grader.

“I want to see the snakes!” yelled one of the boys.

“Please stop running off,” I begged. The tiger made a sound remarkably like a chuckle. Even the tiger was laughing at me!

All I had to do was teach these kids about tigers. Easy, right? What kind of teacher can’t teach even this subject? Me, that was who. I probably couldn’t even teach a dog to chew a bone, much less squirmy first graders to…well do anything. Tears burned my eyes. This was my final test as a student teacher and I had failed. I’d never get my own classroom.

“Let go!” screamed the second boy, trying to pull out of my grasp.

He twisted almost out of my grip, but I held on, grimly. Enough!” I finally snapped. I may never be a teacher, but these boys were going to learn about tigers! “See that tiger?” I snapped. “Last week a teacher got fed up with two boys and tossed them in with that tiger.”

My students froze. D…did the tiger eat the boys?” asked one.

“Of course not,” I said. “She adopted them.”

The boys pressed their faces to the bars. “Where are they? Are they still in there?”

“Yes,” I answered, my voice firm. “But they’re sleeping inside the cave; tired out, I would guess, from hunting and eating all that raw meat.”

I smiled at their eager faces and began to teach.

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Rufus

Summer plans were going to be made weather we liked them or not. Caroline was going to learn to dance. She was to wear a perfect pink dress and polished pink shoes and she was going to be as graceful as the crystal swan Mom had on the polished mahogany table.

I was going to study English literature with some professor from Harvard. I was going to wear pressed trousers and fitted button down shirts.

But Mom was not the only one who had plans for us.

We’d never seen Rufus until the day I opened the door to find him wagging his tail on our tidy front step. He was big as a pony and had dirty strands of curly white hair that straggled like old wool from his body. He studied me with one blue eye and one brown eye, then with a woof he stood on his hind legs, and placed his filthy front paws on my starched shirt. He gave me the biggest wettest kiss I’d ever had. Without waiting for an invitation, he nudged past me, and ambled inside.

Mom made a fuss of course. In fact, she almost fainted when she saw Rufus shedding on her antique hand dyed rug. But in spite of her objections, Rufus made our home his own.

Our lives were never the same.