Just a Sandwich

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Clara squatted next to the tiny figure, “Sweetheart please eat,” she begged, holding a small section of the grilled cheese sandwich, that only five minutes ago, had been demanded.

Megan, her lips puckered as if stung by bees, crossed her arms, shook her head side to side and shoved the plate away.

Her mother’s temper flared, “I made it the way you wanted, either eat it or go hungry,” she said, scooting the plate back in front of her daughter.

The Wilson’s little darling, the youngest child and only girl in a brew of four rambunctious kids, burst into tears, “You cut the crust off, it’s ruined.”

Clara remembered how hard she prayed for a daughter and softened, dumped the cold sandwich into the trash and prepared to make a fresh one; it was just a cheese sandwich.

Five Sentence Fiction – This Weeks word -Spoiled

Lillie McFerrin Writes – Five Sentence Fiction

 

Dirty Martini Memories

photo courtesy of marialoveswords.com

photo courtesy of marialoveswords.com

Written for  Lillie Mcferrin’s Five Sentence Fiction: Prompt – Forgotten

She sat on the blanket, opened the flask, and poured the chilled liquid into the glasses tittering on the grass between them. “Made them just the way you like them, up dirty, bruised with blue cheese olives.”

The breeze stirred and she could have sworn it brought the scent of Chanel.

She smiled as memories flooded her mind and lifted the glass high. “To my dearest friend, you have not been forgotten.”

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Praying for Rain

Samantha woke to the rustle of dry leaves and gusts of wind. The springs creaked as she pulled herself from the old, worn bed. Her damp, silk slip clung to her as she moved toward the window. She leaned against the sill and felt the stroke of the cool breeze. She tilted her head back ran the wet cloth down the length of her neck and prayed for rain.

Lillie Mcferrin Writes – Five Sentence Fiction- Open

Unheeded Warning

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photo curtesy of abcnews.go.com

 Lillie McFerrin Writes: Five Sentence Fiction – Villainous

Adam stepped from behind the closed door, “Where the hell you been, woman?”

She squeezed her eyes shut against the spew of anger and drunken spittle, cowered against the counter, and waited for the inevitable.

“You mark my words, Norma Jean, a tiger don’t change his stripes,” her mother warned.

“He’s changed, mama. You don’t know him like I do.”

The back of his hand landed hard and she tried to think of happier times; he hadn’t always been this way.