Tall Tell

dales-stop-sign

 

“Why this thing?”

“They don’t like pancakes.”

Stella frowned.

Stephan chuckled. Too serious for her own good.

Her stare continued. He wanted dessert. He demurred.

“Bad accident last year. Someone got run over.” He slapped his palms for emphasis. “Totally.”

She kicked his shin.

“Ow!”

“Not the Stop sign, the lamppost! Too tall.”

Stephan’s eyes traced up to her manicured nail.

“Ah, they had to.”

Stella lowered her glasses. Warning or curious? He couldn’t tell.

“That family of giants down the street? Any shorter and the lamp ignites their hair.”

Forget dessert.

Her glare incinerated what chance he had left.

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo by: © Dale Rogerson 

 

Window Washing

Photo prompt @ A. Noni Mouse

 

Her husband thought she loved to cook, which she did, but not exactly. He thought she liked the cleaning up after, which she did not, or not for the reasons he believed.

She didn’t correct him. It worked right fine for her that he would sigh contentedly after they had finished eating, and then transfer his happy belly to the den to read the paper or watch some TV.

Washing up gave her the perfect place.

Her neighbor, body glistening, exercising in the room he’d made into a gym, its window facing her sink.

She thought of it as dessert.

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

 

 

Kind of Allergic

Dessert InbarAsif

Photo: Inbar Asif

 

He didn’t want to have his dinner.

Only dessert.

“I’m kind of allergic to the salad,” he proclaimed.

“And the stew?”

“That, too.”

 

 

 

For The Daily Post