Beginnings of stories I won’t ever write
When Sheila emerged from the dressing room things seemed different.
The tiger scampered past the bride’s maids, swiped one of the rotisserie chickens, and jumped into the swimming pool.
Sheila’s skirt was way too short!
The dark clouds gathered at the peak of the mountain and whispered to each other; their numbly voices causing the trees in the valley below to shudder.
She stood on the cafeteria table and shouted to whoever would listen, “I’m going to use a semicolon!”
He wanted fireworks, and waterfalls, and frogs, and Klondike bars; things you couldn’t get in a mental institution.
She stared at the blank screen and thought about hamburgers.
Sheila didn’t think she was in Kmart anymore.
The old man stood up and said, “Remember in the old days how everything was so brown?” And then he laughed, and laughed.