Two Sentence Stories

Sex never even crossed my mind, until two
hours and four beers later, you said I love you. Oh well.

I ran carelessly through the green fields, wind playing hide and seek in my hair, and rain hop scotching down my nose and on to my awaiting tongue.

For I am a child again.

The childhood poem “Sugar and spice and everything nice, that’s what little girls are made of” suddenly seemed so funny to her 6-year-old mind, as she stomped on his coloring book reciting the poem louder and louder.

“Snakes and snails and puppy dog tails” is more like it she giggled, enjoying the satisfaction of ruining the class bully’s precious art work.

“Don’t shoot him,” I ordered the soldier who was about to squeeze the trigger on the hapless 10-year old son of the slain terrorist leader lying supine on the ground. Next moment, I felt the cold blade of the army knife the boy had snatched from its holster in my belt and driven in one fell swoop into my stomach and the triumphant glint in his little eyes with the hand holding the blood-dripping knife hanging loosely by his side.

As I approached the dark mountain the air became heavier, colder and more oppressive. The growing shadow spread its bitter fingers around my heart and then I realised that it was the shadow of my soul.