Glove

Swathed in velvet and jewels, Cinderella pulled on a white satin glove. The lace band squeezed her flabby arm. "Maid," she called, a thin note of disdain in her voice, "I believe this pair, too, has shrunk from carelessness. Please bring me a pair that you haven't taken to be laundered and find out who's mistake this was."

"Yes Your Highness," came the young girl's response. Quickly the girl picked the dropped glove from the floor and put it in the pile with the other discarded gloves. She handed the Queen a new pair of gloves, which she assumed would also prove to be too small.

***One Minute Writer ***

Sharp

George Stevens the Third sat at the threshold of his home. His nose twitched and his body quivered in anticipation. Licking his lips, he assessed the danger of venturing out. The fourteen sets of brightly colored feet would only be problematic for the first few seconds. He knew from experience that his presence was enough to make them scatter. His real concern was Franklin, a.k.a. Frankie. Frankie was a muscle bound bully with quick movements and a white patch over one eye. Last time they met, Frankie had almost killed him. George reached back, unconsciously rubbed his bottom and then straightened his whiskers.

"No," he thought, "I'd better wait a while. That damned cat is always lurking by when feet are present. The sharp cheddar will still be there after the feet have left."

*** One Minute Writer ***

Interview

I stared into the flickering flame of the electric candle and watched the small light bounce off the fabric of the fake pink rose next to it. 'How did I get talked into this?' I wondered. I hated interviewing! Reaching up, I smoothed back a lock of hair that had fallen from my ponytail holder and smiled sarcastically at my friend down the way.

He sat down across from me. The table separating us was narrow and he kicked my leg while trying to settle himself. His apology was quick, but I found myself drawn in by the quicker blushing of his young face. His smooth skin, dark hair and deep eyes. His clean hands and prominent chest muscles.

Picking up the small clipboard, I checked the box "will see again" next to the name that matched his badge. Maybe speed dating wouldn't be so bad.

*** One Minute Writer ***

Swing

Only Squirrel noticed that she had arrived with less joy than previous years. He sat silently among the cheerful woodland creatures, listening to their incessant chatter while observing her. Spring wandered slowly, examining the brown sticks and hard clumps of Earth that sat humiliated in their nudity where every one could see. She would touch them gently, whispering consoling words, and promise deep robes of green with jeweled flowers as decoration. Her prophets helped spread her promise from the tops of the trees in little chirps and tweets and whistles. But she didn't twirl. Her hair was limp, it's bright golden color hidden behind a veil of sadness.

Quietly, he left and scampered up an old arthritic tree. "Dearest Spring!" he called. Nerves caused him to dart between branches and the old tree shook them, annoyed to have the extra weight of Squirrel for fear his branches would snap. "Miss Spring!" Squirrel called again.

She turned and came over, stroking the old tree, relaxing his tired joints. He relaxed and the Squirrel stood still. "My dear Spring," Squirrel began and then hesitated at the stormy grey of her eyes. He was accustomed to eyes of brilliant blue with flecks of white in this young maiden. "I beg your pardon, miss, but what keeps you from your twirling dance and babbling laughter?"

Her eyes darkened. A dangerous light flashed across them for such a brief time that Squirrel thought perhaps he was dreaming this encounter. She looked at him intently. "A woman aught to be entitled to a mood swing now and then!" she stormed and her tear drops soaked Squirrel and the Earth as she turned away and left with a great wind at her heels.

*** One Minute Writer ***

Mountain

For many years, John had loved her..... and only her. He thought of her as his lover and was always faithful to her. She had taught him patience and how to survive with whatever Mother Nature and God provided. But today, they were failing him and he knew that this would be his last battle. Propping himself up on his elbow, John looked out his window to see her one last time.

The white crown glinted brightly in the sun; the purple and blue cloak fell gracefully down the length of her body; her green and yellow skirt peeked from beneath the cloak. She stood majestic and confident as always. Finding great peace in her solidity, John laid himself down and took a last rattling breath, releasing his soul into his love's care. The great mountain sighed at his immortal embrace.

*** One Minute Writer ***

Late: Short Fiction

"Not until I am two weeks late," she had insisted over and over for the last month. But now that she was a few days late, it seemed she was changing her mind. Her movements slowed, her weight increased steadily, and her feet swelled. Her breath became ore labored, making it difficult at times to understand her. "We are almost there," she whispered each morning upon waking. Each night as she lay in bed, she would say, "It can't be much longer now."

The afternoon before the two week anniversary, she seemed crest fallen. "Babies come when they want to," she cried when she called form work. Cozied in a booth at dinner, she smiled for the first time that day. "Babies come when they want to," she declared.

"That's what you said this afternoon," I responded. "But our baby is coming as determined by the medical field."

"No," she said, fidgeting in her seat and still smiling. "Our baby is coming now. Do you think yuo could get the car and say several rolls of paper towel?"

*** One Minute Writer ***

Cat or Dog

I knew that damned creature lurked beneath the bed just waiting for light to ascend and my ankles to descend. It never failed. Every morning I awoke in that strange bed, I'd enter the breakfast nook with new scratches mixed with weeping blood and a frustration that far outweighed the sting of pain. "I hate your cat," I'd say as a morning greeting. My middle school best friend simply responded with a shrug. Is it any wonder I am a dog person?

*** One Minute Writer ***