“Oh,” Cinderella said, clutching the broom handle close to her chest as she watched the carriage with her stepmother and sisters trundle down the street. “If only I could go to the ball.” Continue reading Fiction Friday: Sept 29→
Steve took the last bite of his onion rings then tossed the empty take-out container into the backseat. He shifted closer to Jane, as much as he could with the gears between them. “Did you enjoy dinner?”
Mr. Pinchbody slapped the stack of resumes down on the table, hard. “Here are twenty people more qualified than you, willing to work for shit and to lick my shoes with their tongues! What are you willing to do?”
The buffet of humans stretched along the side of the building, one delicious morsel after the other. T wiped a tear from his eye. (More accurately, he tried to wipe a tear from his eye. Sadly, his tiny arms wouldn’t reach his face. He’d cursed his small arms many times in his life; brushing away tears was the least of his problems.)
Despite a few fatalities, everyone agreed that Mindy’s cookout was a roaring success.
Roaring meant literally, of course, since Bob ended up on the barbecue.
He came in, twenty minutes late as usual, prim steps and perfectly coiffed hair. “Oh, you’ve got hot dogs and hamburger patties! How quaint!” He clasped his hands together and fluttered around, avoiding the smoke even when the wind changed direction.