A Minute | A (Super) Short Story

She needed a minute. Just one fucking minute.

To hold him, to breathe in the smell of his hair, to feel the thump of his heart against the skin of his neck.

It wasn’t fair. It would never be fair. There was nothing to be done. She’d exhausted all her options.

He made his choice.

He would marry the girl his parents wished. Return to England and live a life far from her, from this place, from where they fell in love.

First, she needed one more fucking minute.

To say goodbye.

© Shayne McClendon

Mink | A Short Story

“What’s your name, kid?” the deli owner asked her as she rested against the side of his building.

“Mink.  Who’s askin’?”  She didn’t like folks poking into her business.  She was waiting on the bus and didn’t need to get hassled.

“Hmm.  Interesting blue hair you got there.”

“Yeah…”  Older people always had shit to say about the different colors, the piercings, the tats.

“You live up on the corner, right?  I’ve seen you in the neighborhood.”

He better not be a perv.  “Yeah.  That’s right.  How you know that?”

The way he laughed was a surprise and she frowned.  “Settle down, Mink.  Got no interest in a kid young enough to be my great-grandkid.  I need somebody close to run errands and I’ll slip you a couple bucks.”

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