Author Topic: Short Story: Cookies  (Read 1745 times)

Offline Akeith (Gray)

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Short Story: Cookies
« on: June 16, 2008, 03:02:15 AM »
This is a first attempt at prose and this little short story is called


Cookies



"Stop. Your're going to ruffle his feathers."

"He don't got no feathers. He's a dawg."

"Dawg? Did you hear how you said that? It's dog."

"That's what I said."

They were two little boys, one ten years old, the other nine and small for his age. But he would catch up, his daddy had said. His name was Bobby Lee and he and his father were from Texas. They had just moved from there a few weeks ago. Everyone called him Lee, though, except for his mother. She called him Bobby. At least, she used to.

The other boy, Wally, was born and raised here in Connecticut. Unlike Lee, he was big for his age, as big as Zelda. She was thirteen and lived in the fourth house down the street, the one with the bright trim painted in yellow and white. They used to be best friends but she has small boobs now and won't have anything to do with him. She told him that he was too immature. Whatever that means.

Wally's father was a lawyer and his mother taught at the local elementary school where both Wally and Lee went. His dad was always correcting Wally's words, telling him that a man is measured by how well he can speak. People would listen to what a man had to say, whether he was right or wrong, so long as he said it well. Wally told Lee this.

Lee continued to mess around with Wally's dog, a little brown mutt with coarse fur and a stub for a tail that it tried its best to wag. The sun was bright and filled the yard of Wally's house with a fine dapple of shadows. Laughing at the dog, Lee kept pushing it away as it tried to lick his face and mouth.

"My dad's from Canada,"

Wally boasted to his friend, saying it as if it was the most important thing in the world. He adored his dad, even if his dad was getting old. Wally knew that this was the reason he and his dad didn't play as much as they did when Wally was a kid. Wally was convinced he wasn't a kid now, despite what Zelda said.

Lee knew Wally's dad was from Canada; he had heard it before.

"Where's Cainedah, anyhow?"

Lee asked, even though he already knew. Wally like telling him and being Lee's only friend, he waited for Wally to answer.

"You know, Lee. You're pretty dumb for a Texan. Besides, I thought Texans were white. Are you sure you're from Texas?"

Lee was reminded again of his copper-colored skin. Not that it bothered him. He really didn't give it much thought. His dad had dark skin, too. What was wrong with that? His mom didn't seem to mind. She had skin as white as Wally's and his mom and dad. Well, she didn't use to mind. Lee's eye started getting wet as he thought about his mom.

"Awh, hey. Don't start crying again,"

Wally said to Lee. His voice softened. He put his arm around Lee's small shoulders and the dog jumped in a circle, trying to get him to play.

"Come on. Let's go ask my mom if we can have some cookies. She baked some."

Lee, being distracted by the idea of eating some of Wally's mom's cookies, tried to dry his eyes with his hands. He didn't like crying in front of Wally or anyone, not since his mom had died. She never baked cookies or anything. They always had the kind that came in a box from the store.

They ran, skirting around the rose bushes by the front walk and jumped the three steps leading up to the front porch. The screen door was unlatched and they let it slam behind them as they came to a halt on the rug in the hall. They wobbled with their arms out as it slid a little.

"MOM," Wally yelled.

"Wally. You boys stop letting that screen door slam like that. How many more times do I have to tell you? Honestly, you never listen."

Wally's mom was in the kitchen, grading papers at the table. It was where they always ate. The big, wooden table in the dining room had lace cloth on it and plastic fruit in a green glass bowl. His mom said that it was for company but no one ever seemed to visit, except at Christmas.

"Can we have some cookies?" Wally yelled.

"Stop shouting in the house, young man, and it is 'Please? May we have some cookies?'."

"Please? May we have some cookies? Please?"

"Yes. They're over there on the counter by the sink. And you boys take them outside. I'm busy right now."

Wally and Lee both grabbed a handful and, giggling like thieves, ran back through the house, sliding again on the rug in the hall. They let the screen door slam on their was out.

Wally's mom called out after them.

"Lee? Say hello to your dad for me."

"Yes'm," said Lee.

For the moment he had forgotten about his mom being dead back in Texas. Wally's dog found them quickly and started pestering them for a bite of their cookies. Lee gave him a piece and wondered why they tasted so much better than the kind that came in a box.



Gray
« Last Edit: June 16, 2008, 03:29:55 AM by GrayAyes »

Offline Wicked Redhead

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Re: Short Story: Cookies
« Reply #1 on: June 21, 2008, 05:47:31 PM »
Aww. That was kinda sad, but in a good, entertaining way.  ;)
http://christinekirchoff.wordpress.com/

Must be 18 or older to come on over and show some skin.

Offline Akeith (Gray)

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Re: Short Story: Cookies
« Reply #2 on: June 21, 2008, 06:47:45 PM »
ChristineK.

Thanks for the comment. Nice of you.

Gray

Nelodra

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Re: Short Story: Cookies
« Reply #3 on: June 21, 2008, 06:52:07 PM »
This is your first attempt at prose?

Wow! That's very good for a first attempt at prose.
Poor Lee, though. You just want to hug that little guy.

Offline Akeith (Gray)

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Re: Short Story: Cookies
« Reply #4 on: June 21, 2008, 07:04:06 PM »
Nelodra:

Thanks very much for the kind comment.  Yes, I wrote and tried to develope my poetry (you know, find my "voice") during my days at the university. But that was 1978 and I stopped writing altogether.

I've never tried my hand at prose. So, you comment is very encouraging to me.

Yes, Lee...poor kid.  I was trying for a tear-jerker.

Gray

Nelodra

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Re: Short Story: Cookies
« Reply #5 on: June 21, 2008, 07:09:22 PM »
I've always been better at prose, so I developed that more - but I will try my hand at poetry from time to time.
I admire people who can write good poetry.

Tear jerker... can't help you with that I'm afraid.
I'm one of those funny girls who never cry.