Hasty

The girl squirmed as she replied to the hooded man. She wasn’t impressed with whatever he was selling either. His hung his head low, spoke as in a whisper, and looked straight into the eyes of the girl who was now regretting taking the bus to work that day. 

Across the bus stop, the policeman observed everything. He wanted to intervene, to nab the vermin that injected evil drugs into his society. But it was neither his place nor right to disturb unless the woman called for help.

After about ten minutes, it was becoming clear that the shady salesman wouldn’t accept no for an answer.

Jeff threw caution to the winds. So what if he was under suspension for wrong accusations? He knew a drug dealer when he saw one. Inspired from super cop movies, Jeff jumped in on the scene, “Hey, mister. You’re coming with me for drug trafficking.”

He pulled at the man’s hood. 

An old beggar woman stared back at him. Not a drug dealer, but instead a gypsy selling beads.

Prompt: Today’s Author

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A way out

No matter how much he tried, Jey, the milkman’s youngest son, couldn’t persuade the elders to clean the path out of the isolated village.

He sighed walking back home, alone and dejected yet again. His villagers were golden at heart, compassionate and ever understanding. However, when it came to sensible matters, they wouldn’t budge from traditional muck and let progress come into their process. Jey decided to give up.

As he packed his bag that night, he knew he couldn’t save his village. Their only passage to development was blocked by decades of mindless dirt and debris.

And a flood was coming.

Inspiration: Today’s Author.

Flying

All sense, time zones lost

schedules insignificant

cruising in the sky

It was war

“Do you have all the bullets? We can’t afford to lose again. We have to make this our best effort yet.”

Mark was pacing as he always did before the final face off.

And as always, Karl was there to assure him. “Don’t worry, I’ve got them all.”

“Good,” Mark replied, punching his right fist into his left palm, “those imbeciles won’t know what hit them!”

Mark had always been too competitive for his own good. But even his partner, Karl, knew this was a pivotal point in their lives. If they win, they’d become the senior school debating champions.

The unchanging

Pies and bars were his life. Percentages became everyday parlance. And his tallied spreadsheets set him a class apart. It was picture perfect. He was the ideal high school student: teaches doted on him, classmates frowned upon him, and parents spoilt him for love.

Who needed good friends when you could have great grades?

Pies and bars are his life. Percentages… his wife. With tallied statements stacked in the bank, the picture remains perfect. Raises and praises shower on him, as colleagues thank his genius and bosses appreciate his smartness.

Who needs good friends when you can have great toasts?