John was the master of his universe. He controlled his schedule. He would sometimes miss meetings just to show the others there who was really important.
He came and went as he pleased, and everyone had to react to his timeline, or he would ignore them out of existence. Most people couldn’t handle being treated like that, but John didn’t care. It was all about him damn it.
At least that’s what he told himself as he downed the rest of the bottle. As he staggered down the street, he wondered how much he could hock his AA pin for.
The ring bound him to her. He wondered what insanity had caused him to willingly volunteer to wear the cursed thing in the first place. Still, in that moment of weakness, he had accepted her boon and doomed his soul.
He looked at the perfect circle of gold and thought about chopping the whole finger off. He’d be better off maimed for the rest of his life. He couldn’t do it though. She had taken so much of his strength that he didn’t have the fortitude anymore.
Instead he closed his eyes and dreamt of her when she was alive.
I found a pot of gold, but then the damn leprechaun mobsters began kicking my knees. No one tells you about that. Find the end of the rainbow they say, but no tells you to bring a Glock! I never stood a chance.
Now I have an empty cast iron pot that smells like cow manure and a single gold coin I managed to hide. Too bad it won’t pay for the emergency room visit for my bloody broken knees.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day everyone! That is everyone except those damned leprechauns. They can go where the damn snakes went!
The forge glowed red hot, casting a hellish glow. Kira pulled her quenched metal from the oil bath. The piece blazed to life as residual oil ignited from the heat still encapsulated in the metal’s heart. Kira had beaten that heart into the piece, using a piece of hers as the model. She took a rasp and dragged it along the edge of the metal. The rasp danced and so did Kira’s heart. It was hard.
Later that evening she left the smithy behind and went in search of Pablo. She knew her parents would love to have her marry the boy, but Kira wasn’t happy about it. He was the baker’s boy, and while she thought he was cute he was a bit pudgy.
She found him entertaining his friends. She hung back watching him while nervously shifting her metal creation in her hands. That’s when she saw her opportunity. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the disc flying, cutting Cupid’s bow in half as the imp had been aiming at her.
Cupid’s look would have broken many a heart, but Kira smiled. She might still fall for the boy, but it would be under her terms.
When Glenda put the curse on Bill he just laughed it off. He was doomed to not be able to taste salt, ever. He could put the whole shaker right on his tongue, but nothing would happen.
Bill thought this was the lamest curse, but over time he found himself eating less and less. He didn’t bother going out to dinner anymore. There was never any joy in food. Other tastes faded into monotony.
His life devolved into the blandness he experienced eating. He went to ask forgiveness, but Glenda passed away weeks before.
All he could say was, “Blah.”
Claire wore many hats. She absolutely loved them, switching between them multiple times every day, but it was always the shoes that she was deathly afraid of. She could be mom, wife, daughter, confidant, friend, enemy, goddess, and demon, but when it came to shoes, well, then she felt she had to pretend to be someone else.
That’s why she decided one day to just go barefoot. It meant sometimes stepping on things the wrong way, freezing her toes, or just having her feet absolutely filthy, but they were always hers, and she could sleep well at night knowing that.
I’m like a broken clock, right twice a day. Unfortunately, this was not one of them. How did I know? The man’s fist changing the direction my chin had been pointing mere moments earlier was my first hint. Luckily my body is that of a trained warrior. Well one that had way too much vodka to drink, hadn’t seen combat in the last twelve years and spent half of that time eating fancy buttery French pastries for a living.
At least gravity didn’t fail me. I collapsed to Mother Earth’s embrace. I must have offended her as well since her arms were so hard and cold. I wanted to mourn this decline in our relationship when the aforementioned man decided to kick me in the gut. That was his big mistake. I had him right where I wanted him. I folded myself around that foot and introduced the caught appendage to the regurgitated contents of my lunch, which included an egg sandwich encased in a wonderfully flaky croissant dosed with a lemony hollandaise. It was so good going down, but not so much coming back the other way.
Still, that was enough to make the man yank his foot out and leave me alone. As I laid there in my own stomach juices I wondered how this could get worse. Then I snuffled.
Man, stomach acid and nostrils just don’t mix.