By Tripp Watson
“I know that one of you took it.”
Mother stood in the kitchen, towering over our militaresque formation. Her bathrobe billowed but was pulled tightly in the center with a fabric belt. She pointed to the bookshelf. The usual neatly curated colonnade of books now slumped to the left, with the last ready to fall.
“I told you kids not to touch the books on that shelf. They are not for children.” She scowled, hoping to break us. “If no one confesses…” she warned.
“Mother, I find this whole situation reprehensible. Abhorrent, even,” I say, clutching the thesaurus behind my back.
On a cold day in March, a girl gets heartbroken, she was relieved when she hadn’t had to deal with the constant argument and the toxic energy. But then she was sad because she put her all into this one person for so long. She gets up and tries to put herself together, swipes up the smeared mascara, dried up tears, and cleans the excess dirt off her face. She approaches the mirror and takes a long hard stare, examining everything realizing she didn’t lose him, he lost her. Now she has the motivation to keep going because life is too short to dwell on the past and backtrack into bad habits but to focus on finding new ones that have good intentions.
Bit rude to comment on someone else’s story with your own piece of writing… Why not submit your piece for publication instead of doing this? Submission is free, and the editors are very kind
Could this have been done by mistake?
I too was confused by the story post! Odd.
Haha, nice one, Tripp, I actually laughed out loud at this 🙂
Good one 🙂 Begs the question, is the crime still as reprehensible if it serves to enhance knowledge in such a harmless way??
I love everything about your story, especially the reveal at the end. And here I was thinking they were sneaking “adult books with pictures of boobies!” I love your sweet twist and the fact the little thief got to use newfound big words.
Amusing story Tripp Watson. I love your description of the …curated colonnaded books…! It seems to describe the ones on my own bookshelf. Ha ha!