Eyes on the Prize
We're not all Gordon Gekko
Rip headphones off and click disconnect. Caller went long again, twenty minutes left and my lunch sitting on the counter at home. The chalkboard tallying up sales to motivate us screams “LOSER” at me for the hundredth day in a row.
Dash down the hall, sliding stop at the vending machine, pause as it leisurely eats my paper bill, then adrenaline back as granola bar ordered, grabbed, and stuffed in mouth while sliding into home before end of lunch bell dings.
Who’s the loser now?
About the Creator
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More stories from Charlotte Stetson and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Lost and Found
My search ends in an impossibly old New England library, hewn stone, round turret. Wheelchair ramp inartfully added beside dangerously worn steps. It smells like a library: pages crackle when they turn; bindings lay flat; remnants of readers wander cramped stacks. Books, magazine racks and computer tables shoulder each other for space.
By Charlotte Stetson11 months ago in Fiction
Three Billy Goats Gruff
Once upon a time, there was a lush pasture. The only way to get to it was via a stone arch bridge over a swift stream. The owner of the pasture was fixated on preventing the goats next door from getting across because they ate everything he grew. So he found a homeless troll and offered him the job.
By Gerard DiLeo5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
This was kind of sad, but very clever!