Short Story

Clambering to my feet, I pulled a bloody sliver from my palm. It left a nasty-looking hole ripe for infection, so I crossed the few short steps to the sink to wash it out. The ubiquitous orange speckled shag rug did not extend into this area. Instead, the floor was covered in a linoleum of fake bricks, one of the few ‘improvements’ that actually pleased my eye. My gaze drifted to the frying pan still smoking on the stove, and I felt a flash of anger again. Margery could’ve burned the place down with her reckless behavior.

I shit on it.” But the reality was that deep down she was lying to herself. Nevertheless, she missed all of that -- the smells of lamb pörkölt (stewed and flavored with paprika) and stuffed cabbage. And just to have one more taste of sweetened porridge and rice, or those butter-creamed flaky tortes that had once graced her lips, at weddings. She certainly had never learned to cook well enough to prepare those things, with her mother passing away before teaching Ava to cook. There hadn’t been time to learn what village women taught their daughters. Not when her mother had been wracked with pain and worry.

it is life, Mama!” Mama: “Oh—so now its life. Money is life. Once upon a

After a long Thursday of work on the ranch the hard working men packed into the dining hall. Everyone rushed through the lineup to eat first and instantly the sound of growling stomachs and clinking forks and knifes filled the dining room that was silent moments ago. George, Slim, Lennie, Candy and Carlson in their dirty work wear an scuffed boots sat around an old wood dining room table that was aged with scratches and cuts from the many men that had worked at the ranch before the five men that sat around the table today. The men chowed down on roast beef with gravy and garlic mashed potatoes. Lennie was thrilled as he ate his mountain of potatoes. Gravy spilled down the edge of old Candy’s lips. “Jesus Candy do you have any table manners?” Carlson asked with frustration in his deep voice.

Before the play commenced, I noticed the stage had been set up to look like a cozy petite home. The tight space that included a door, a couch and chair, and a small table and chairs, had candy wrappers on the floors and bath towels unfolded lying around. There was an obvious reason for the noticeable mess. String lights lined the top of the set to create the relaxed atmosphere. Soon they would dim and ‘night, Mother would begin.

“Of course they aren’t helping,” Adia groaned, slamming the door to Heron’s Hideaway shut. It was our last midnight patrol for the week of camp, and it was supposed to be easy. But how was cleaning an entire building with just the two of us easy?

Gospel music played softly as the pots on the stove bubbled and spit steam into the atmosphere. While preparing dinner, she often thought about having a beautiful daughter. The joys of having another female in the house gave her an indescribable feeling on the inside, and she instantly had baby fever again.

Jeanne woke to the smell of beans scorching. Carefully, she worked her way from bed and hobbled into the other room. Using a wooden spoon, she stirred the beans, making sure not to scrape the bottom. The room was chilly, and she added another log to the fire. Not taking the time to find a bowl, she ate from the pot, looking around guiltily. If Henri were here, he would have teased her for standing in her bare feet and dirty gown, eating from the kettle. But she was alone.

Yiayia's meatballs smell delicious as usual. I wonder how many I'll taste this week as I squeeze onto the lemon colored bench. The side door continuously opens as more family pile into the cozy kitchen. No one dares to miss eating my grandmother's spaghetti and meatballs; why would they? Burning buns are in the toaster over, steam off the pasta clouds the kitchen, and we're all packed in like sardines. Papou brings in the folding chairs to ensure everyone has a place at the table. By six o'clock, roll call had begun. “Is Cousin Tori at work? Is Auntie Karen still napping?” Yiayia interrogates as she always knows when someone is missing. At five years old, I didn’t realize how much these weekly Sunday dinners would influence who I'd become.

The diner smelled like leather; like the padding of a baseball glove, and the stench that oozed from a softball bag. Dirt and sweat, and the skin of cow: that’s what the eating establishment stunk of, and Belle, although a person who tolerated most things, did in fact tolerate this. What was really making her anxious was not the way the place smelled, or the fact that the cushion to her seat practically swallowed her butt, but rather that her so called “boyfriend” hadn’t quite shown up yet. He was just a little late. An hour late, but he’d come. Right? Right?

Lucius does not remember whose arms are carrying him, or whose shoulder his head lays against. He does not remember how he ended up here, in these arms. He does not remember where he is. Everything in his brain is chilled syrup.

Left alone in the untidy bedroom, Tom wondered what the hell he was supposed to do. Booker had told him to get out, but he didn’t want to leave without having the chance to adequately explain himself. Hearing Booker professing his love had caused him to panic, and he’d muttered the first words that had popped into his head. But as soon as the faltering sentence had left his lips, he had immediately regretted his thoughtless response. Not only had he surprised his lover by not acknowledging the intimate attestation with a grand gesture of his own, he had humiliated and hurt him too. The words I love you were three of the most sacred words in the English language and those who uttered them did so with confidence because they assumed the

No one had been behind him. Kakuzu would have known if someone had been and yet now there was. The second this new presence appeared, the nuke nin had twisted on his feet and swung his right foot into the person's head. Except his foot just continued onward as if this person wasn't there, causing the person's image to blur like a disturbed reflection on water.

The smoky smell of the fire, the scent of meat that was being cooked, all the noise, the prying strangers, and the barking dogs, was overwhelming. When Mrs. Cleary tried to force Ina to eat some food all she could do was become nauseous. But Mrs. Cleary continued to fuss away at Ina still trying to force her to eat. She kept pushing a spoon at Ina saying "You must eat something dear....you must eat something....just try!" Christopher kept crying and was unhappy at all strangeness and noise of the people and dogs around him too.

The streets were pumping with beautiful energy; the night sky was lit with floating lanterns and there were gracefully dancing bodies everywhere. The siblings had to hold onto each other’s hands so they did not lose one another, that is how busy the one street was. The sensational smell of chicken roasting in the hot halo of fire, mixed with the sweet syrupy sauce wafted through the air; practically making Constance’s mouth water in a very un-ladylike manner. Not that she cared. However, her surrender to temptation as interrupted as burly arms grabbed her from behind. Porthos laughed as Constance hugged him in marvellous nature.