Attack of the Toe-Biters


"You're not going to believe this bug." He stood on the porch and beckoned her outside with his beat up old Red Sox cap in hand. He hoped the creature's horror-show features might purge the hurt of his earlier words.

She remained at the kitchen table, her one piece bathing suit moist with sweat. It was the middle of July and Nebraska hot, even with the sun down and a 200 acre lake to cool them. She wished they would have stayed home with central air, he in his basement cave, she in a family room without children, but they always went to the cabin on summer week-ends. The simple act of getting up would only generate more perspiration.

“It's too hot.” She didn't look up from her Sudoku book, rolling a pencil between thumb and index finger, her refusal seared into passive-aggressive resolve.

"Fine." He slammed the door coming in and rushed past her.

“I thought you were going?”

“Getting my pellet gun.”





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)