A Short Story

Verin watched a group of young soldiers grapple behind the mess tent. He split his time between checking on Fynta and offering pointers when one of the guys showed bad form. So far, comms were still offline to the group that had entered the temple, but Verin didn’t worry. Fynta was impossible to kill, and he had little stake in the others. Granted, he rather liked the Togruta. She’d fought well on Tython.

He slowly got on his knees as tears started to flow from his eyes. She was visibly disgusted at the sight of his crying, sending a powerful kick towards his stomach, causing him to cough up spit. He coughed violently as he held onto his stomach. She looked down at him shaking her head as she pulled him up by his head.

He tried to stand but was caught. Glancing down, he noticed his belt was tangled up with hers.

“Chew like you’re chewing gum” my mom yelled as she demonstrated.  It had been a long journey and I just wanted to stop and rest when several delicious aromas traveled into my nose and caused my stomach to growl as if I hadn’t eaten for three days.  Following it was a scent of well done burgers with melted cheese and a side of mouthwatering, crunchy fries.  The smell of freshly roasted coffee was everywhere and it was so calming to me because it reminded me of home.

There I was standing in the middle of the Kansas State Fair, looking straight down the aisle of the food court. Take in a nice big whiff and smell all of the aromas of the food that are to the and the right and to the right. The smell of the savory corn dogs mixes with the tangy aroma that comes from the fried pickle. The smell of the wonderful food makes the thought of how sticky and gross the ground under your shoes, just slip out of your mind. Sounds of kids yelling in the carnival mix in with all of the sizzling of grease and oil. Walking down the path and see all of the food other people have in their hands and think to myself, I must have that. My brain just drooling from the sight and smell of all of the fermented food. Food is one of the things I came for so I buy myself an order of fried pickles.

Everybody got a square slice. I slowly clamped my teeth down on the bread. The lava-red sauce spilled out the sides. The mozzarella was like an elastic band, I almost choked on the cheese. The inside of my mouth was like a party, tastebuds dancing around with delight. The different kind of spices added the perfect touch. I then felt a warm sensation.The heat traveled down to my stomach and through my nervous system.

Suddenly, the girl tripped over a rock and fell on the hard concrete, scraping her knee.

Later that day, Nerys and I walked through the busy streets looking at dresses. She dragged me into a shop called ‘Nina’s Dress Shop.’

As the bubbles within the pot began to rise, my lungs were filled with the savory scent savory scent of onion and garlic mixed with the fatty smell of oil. The aroma was overwhelming, and my mouth yearns for fresh water, as I imagine the saltiness of drinking the pure broth.

We moped across the restaurant as we felt our bellies ache from all the food we just devoured. I specifically remember as I entered the ladies’ restroom the strong smell of women's perfume, lavender soap, and all the cleaning supplies the cleaning lady was using as she

It was a beautiful day. It was dark, cool, and damp, just the way I like it. I looked over at Cassandra and Connor, and they were having just as much fun as I was drinking the water that fell down on us. The light breeze made my hair blow to one side. The ground was moist, making it perfect for everything we do: eat, drink, sleep and socialize.

Sheriff Eldritch Meeks straightened his hat and emerged from the Chevy Bel Air. Its beacon singed into the back of his neck. Red. Eldritch watched thin sheets of dust sweep down the highway. Everything was fuzzy. He wiped rain from his eyes and took a deep breath. The knife twisted harder into his brainstem. Headaches. The pain was getting worse. Stabbing. Pinching. Wriggling. Eldritch needed a cup of coffee and a cigarette. He needed a fucking detox. But it would have to wait.

Booker arrived at the chapel early Monday morning, keen to get his debriefing with Tom over with as quickly as possible. He was professional enough to know he needed to put his disappointment to one side and concentrate on their assignment, but the sting of Tom’s rejection still lingered. He thought they’d made a connection, and he’d looked forward to building a solid friendship with the shy officer. But despite a promising start, he realized he now had no choice but to accept what Penhall had told him. Tom was weird, and his mercurial temperament made it impossible to break down the barriers that kept him at arm’s length. Whether Will was responsible for his brother’s character traits or not was still open for debate, but as far as Booker

When Vivian revealed her face, Cecilia had taken in every inch of it. It didn't show on her, but she was still scanning her old muse. Her old lover. Her old slut. Sure, they'd done rough things, and played around with punishment, but Cecilia had always been careful. She probably would always be so, but there was something else inside of her now, that weren't there back then. An aggressive obsessiveness, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to wrestle free of. She'd lost Vivian, when she'd needed her the most. She wasn't going to let that happen again. She couldn't. A part of her realized then, just how much she needed Vivian. How much she loved her. That love was still there. Only the trust was still stained. Tainted. But trust could be

" Y'ARE very snug in here," piped old Mr. Woodifield, and he peered out of the great, green leather armchair by his friend the boss's desk as a baby peers out of its pram. His talk was over; it was time for him to be off. But he did not want to go. Since he had retired, since his... stroke, the wife and the girls kept him boxed up in the house every day of the week except Tuesday. On Tuesday he was dressed and brushed and allowed to cut back to the City for the day. Though what he did there the wife and girls couldn't imagine. Made a nuisance of himself to his friends, they supposed ... Well, perhaps so. All the same, we cling to our last pleasures as the tree clings to its last leaves. So there sat old Woodifield, smoking a cigar and