Hunger

forever rumbling

empty another night, bare

craving no famine

 


(c) Teresa Grabs, 2018. You can find me on Twitter @TeresaGrabs.

If you would like to support the creation of more stories, please buy me a $3 coffee at https://ko-fi.com/D1D4DVAG

Remember you can read more stories by me on your kindle with Tales From the Haunted Wordsmith

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Battle Before Dawn

Simon sat still, watching life pass him by. An expert in stealth attacks, he was a well-oiled killing machine. He had survived the war longer than any of the others, which made him both tired and chiseled. Nothing phased him. Catching sight of his next target, Simon crept around the corner, unseen. He slowed his breathing, steadying his nerves ready for the next battle. One he hoped would be the last. His target enters the kill zone and Simon moves into action. The first strike landed on the target, stunning him. Without warning, lights struck the battle zone. Game Over.


(c) Teresa Grabs, 2018. You can find me on Twitter @TeresaGrabs.

If you would like to support the creation of more stories, please buy me a $3 coffee at https://ko-fi.com/D1D4DVAG

Remember you can read more stories by me on your kindle with Tales From the Haunted Wordsmith

Follow the Recipe

“Come on,” Emily said. “It’s easy. I’ve watched my mom do it all the time.”

“Well…” Megan hesitated letting Emily anywhere near her kitchen after seeing her in home ec class this year. “Okay, if you promise not to make a mess.”

“Great!” Emily happily walked into the kitchen.

Finding the largest bowl she could find, she started calling out ingredients for Megan to find.

“Sugar.” That looks like the right amount, she thought, pouring it in the bowl.

“Brown sugar.”

“2 sticks butter.”

“Vanilla extract.” Emily poured in the whole bottle into the sugar and butter mixture in the bowl.

“Come on, Megan,” Emily said, rolling up her sleeves. “Help me mix it.”

Both girls stuck their hands right in and blended the mixture, scrapping them off with the back of a butter knife.

“2 eggs.” I hate this gross part, Emily thought, cracking an egg and watching it ooze out of the shell. “That’s one….and…..oops…..oh, well…..my mom says a little shell is good for you.”

“Salt.” Emily picked up the salt shaker and shook it until the lid popped off. She dug it out of the white sand pile and put it on the counter.

“Baking soda.” The box was full when she started and empty when she finished.

“Flour.” There wasn’t much flour in the container, so she just dumped it in.

“Okay, help me mix it one more time, Megan.”

As the girls mixed, the thicker the dough became until it was difficult to squeeze through their fingers.

“Pan.” Emily squished and patted until the concoction was smooth in the pan.

“Right, now into the oven.” Emily said.

“That doesn’t look like any cake we’ve ever made,” Megan said, looking in the pan.

“Cake? I thought you wanted cookies?”

What He Lost

spf-june-3-2018-1-of-1
Photo Credit: C.E. Ayr

The house at the end of the block sat. A dilapidated shell of its former self. The city wanted it condemned and torn down, saying it was an eye sore and potential hazard for local kids who might be enticed to go play in it. Some of the newer, younger neighbors agreed with the city and started taking bricks here and there, but inevitably, another neighbor would stop them. The older people in the neighborhood understood. They remembered. They were there when Jeff and Lily first moved in. They were there when Abigail arrived, then Joseph, and finally little Angel. They were there when the hiker lit his campfire on a no burn day. They were there when the winds picked up. They were there when the sounds of Lily’s cries could be heard above the roar of the fire. They were there as others received their rebuilding checks from the developer and FEMA. They were there when Jeff collapsed on the remains of his home when he read the letter informing him his insurance company called it act of God and denied his claim. They were there. They will always be there. And so will the house.


This 198-words story was written for Sunday Photo Fiction.

 

(c) Teresa Grabs, 2018. You can find me on Twitter @TeresaGrabs.

If you would like to support the creation of more stories:  https://ko-fi.com/D1D4DVAG

Remember you can read more stories by me on your kindle with Tales From the Haunted Wordsmith