A short fictional story

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“It looks delicious. Thank you.” Sarah nodded to the server as she set down her plate. Golden bubbles rushed up the interior of the fluted glass in a desperate dance to free themselves. She licked her lips in anticipation. She loved this restaurant. They sat on the veranda together, just outside the casino, near a fountain. A soft breeze caressed her cheek, causing her to shiver.

“What is it called again? Your…condition?” Jacob smoothed his comb-over. Leave it to him to ruin the meal. He had been bringing it up for the past couple of weeks, demanding that she explain…


A fictional short story

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“What are you in the mood for?” he asked.

“I have no idea.” She craned her neck to look through the expanse of people passing in front of their bench. Nothing was right. The selections were either too fatty or too bland. She craved something she could feast her eyes on, something naughty and delicious. The chance of finding a hidden gem in this food court was slim.

“Well, hurry up and make a decision, you’re taking way too long,” he said.

“Give me a second. I need more time to think.” She wrinkled her nose and considered her options…


A fictional short story

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When the woman sat down in front of him, Gerald Fletcher wrinkled his nose. Hatred roiled up in the pit of his stomach and settled in his throat like indigestion. He could feel it burn when he swallowed.

She was dark-skinned. Exotic and dangerous. He perked his ears and caught impeccable English flowing from her tongue through parted, smiling lips. The woman sitting next to her gave an enthusiastic nod. They knew how to play the game. Infiltrate. Assimilate. He saw through it. At any moment, she could blow up the whole bus. He bet they were on their way…


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When I submitted my story, “Lay Down Your Hat,” I had no intention of writing a single article a couple of months ago, let alone penning a second one.

I’m just not the type to write structured articles for people to glean useful information to apply to their writing. Or am I?

I’m a super-procrastinator. When it comes time to write, I can get immersed in the work and fly through a few pages, then take a two-hour break to watch YouTubers set up their new writing desks or show off their stationery hauls. …


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When I was in my early to mid-twenties, I remember applying to a large credit card company for an entry-level position in their call center.

The application process was simple, yet, I wondered how I managed to squeak through the door.

Why would they want me?

I had two years’ worth of aimless credits from two prestigious universities and no degree.

My financial sector experience consisted of receiving stern letters from my bank after a bounced check or two. The thing I knew about money was that I needed some.

I drove forty-five minutes both ways and parked my capricious…


A fictional short story

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Caroline Hawkins sat in the driver’s seat, tight-lipped, hands gripping the steering wheel. Her eyes never left the road. She could feel him staring at her, waiting.

“Mama, be honest. Are you saying that you never knew?”

“There were times when I suspected it, but I prayed to God it wasn’t true.”

“Why?”

“Why? Allen, do you know where you are? This is Dallas, Texas, son. That stuff don’t fly here. You might get away with it in Austin, but not here.” She swallowed hard.“I don’t think you should tell your daddy.”

“But I have to tell him,” he said…

Nakia Cook

A native Texan who lives in Canada with her husband and five children. Writer. Photographer. Cat lover. Working on some novels.

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