It's a game so ancient, everyone knows how to play. When teacher leaves the room, we take turns crawling under the tables. Two kids pull the tables apart and the "it" kid sticks their fingers up through the gap. Everyone holds their breath in anticipation. You pull your fingers out at the last possible moment before your friends slam the tables back together. Sometimes there's an "ouch", but there's always laughter. Except for that one time, when the tables slammed and there was a loud crunch, but, strangely, no "ouch." And nobody laughed.
About the Creator
Rebekah Conard
31, She/Her, a big bi nerd
How do I write a bio that doesn't look like a dating profile? Anyway, my cat is my daughter, I crochet and cross stitch, and I can't ride a bike. Come take a peek in my brain-space, please and thanks.
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More stories from Rebekah Conard and writers in Fiction and other communities.
A Night Flight
Cass opened her eyes and glanced at her watch. She had only been asleep for about 20 minutes. Cass always had a hard time sleeping in-transit. Usually that was no problem. She enjoyed the experience of traveling and keeping one eye on the window as the sights came and went. On an airplane, there were fewer sights to be seen once up in the clouds, but the novelty of being aboard an aircraft usually kept her occupied. Sometimes, though, the travel times lined up poorly or some snafu or another wore Cass down. Frequent fliers are going to have the occasional trip from hell, and that's just a fact of life. Tonight, it would have been nice to use the two and a half hours to catch some "z"s.
By Rebekah Conardabout a year ago in Fiction
The Business of Nature
Dew drops reflected the light of the sun. The inhabitants of Whispering Woods woke up to the golden droplets of water on the leaves of the flora. The oaks particularly enjoyed the light and the maples did, too. Happiness enveloped all who lived there, even the rocks that cried out in the night delighted in the morning.
By Skyler Saunders5 days ago in Fiction
MARCEL
Marcel checks his pocket watch before he steps to the center of the ballroom as the harpsichord begins to play. The melody, written by Marcel himself, keeps the ¾ time and standard repetition of two sections of eight bars each, but with his own special twist weaved within the music.
By Aaron Morrisona day ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
I can see this in my mind. I had a 8th grade class that was up to many "games" when the teacher was out. Come to think of it, that's the year I learned what a swirly was.
Oh no!!! Left a ♥