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

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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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Value | A Short Story

He was raised by a bunch of men who defined every valuable thing by the color of the man or woman who possessed it.

If a fancy car was driven by a white man, it was a sign of success and class. By a black man, it musta been stolen.

For the first fifteen years of his life, he didn’t know better. He thought the same, talked the same, and figured everybody else been raised like him.

Then he almost died. A man he didn’t know, a man owed him nothing, saved his life. A man with skin many shades darker than his own.

Racing the back roads, he flipped his car. A black man walking the road with a big pack on his back stopped to help. His girlfriend told him in the hospital the man trained as a medic in the Army.

Without him, without his skills and his mercy, he would have died.

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Curiosity | A Short Story

She stood with her feet in the sand, watching the tide to go out.

A moment of peace. Enjoying the breeze on her face and the sunshine beating down.

Any minute now, that peace would be shattered and she was trying not to brace for it. She heard once that if you’re about to be in an accident, relax.

She took several deep breaths in, let them out, closed her eyes, and soaked up the sun, the breeze, the smell of the water.

Behind her, a man’s voice said, “Miss. Miss, I’m going to ask you to please drop your weapon. Will you do that for me?”

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Windmills | A Short Story

She liked to watch the windmills. Sometimes, she’d climb out on the roof of her house and watch them as the sun rose or set for the day.

It was peaceful, calming.

She was jealous of the wind. It could go anywhere it wanted. See the cities and the wild places. Blow past people she’d never meet and carry scents she’d never smell.

The windmills went up when she was a very little girl. The year her mother brought home her baby brother. They were like alien technology on the flat land they lived on. Jutting up into the sky with sharp edges and constant movement.

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