I was in a complete funk the second half of 2023. Totally burned out. So I decided I to take a hiatus from social media, marketing, and eventually, writing. After over ten years of nonstop everything, I desperately needed a break.
Then I desperately needed to get back to writing.
When I first started writing almost 15 years ago, I was part of a group that shared a flash fiction prompt, and we would all write a piece inspired by a word. I used to really enjoy them, and even got a couple published. Since I didn’t want to come up with 31 words for myself for this challenge, I decided to base it off the alphabet. And rather than write flash fiction, which is 1000 words or less, I decided to do micro fiction, which is only a few hundred words.
I shared my mini stories daily on Instagram using the hashtag #writeABCdec2023, and now I’m sharing them here for you. I hope you enjoy!
A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J | K | L | M | N | O | P | Q | R | S | T | U | V | W | X | Y | Z | AA | BB | CC | DD | EE
Dec 1 – A
An empty beer can sat on the counter, seemingly out of place in the otherwise immaculate kitchen. She moved slowly over the tile floor, wiping away nonexistent crumbs, forcing her gaze from the piece of aluminum that carried far too many questions than she could handle today.
Today of all days.
She stopped in front of the familiar can and her finger traced the lip. A bead of amber liquid clung to her skin. It was still cold. She lifted her finger and the bitter scent unleashed all the memories she’d worked so hard to forget.
That one drop flooded her, breaking the dam that held back the unending river of tears and the stoic resolve she’d worked so hard to maintain. Her hand pressed against her flat belly, then drifted to the scar that ran the length of her jaw.
She didn’t judge him. She understood all too well. No matter how much she wished it away.
But a lifetime of wishing would never change what happened, and would never erase the memories of what was lost one year ago.
Dec 2 – B
“Beleaguered is just a fancy of way of saying you need to have the last word!” Colin crossed his arms over his chest as if they’re the only things holding back his anger.
My eyes narrow. “If I want the last word, I will have the last word.” I continue pacing the length of our bedroom. When my therapist suggested I try a different approach with my husband, she probably didn’t mean using my vocabulary as a weapon, but I can’t resist. “I’m tired of constantly feeling like I’m under attack. Nothing I do is good enough.”
His arms drop to his sides, fists clenched. “That’s not true.”
I grab a white sports bra from the top of the hamper and fling it at him. “Consider this my white flag.”
It lands on his shoulder but he doesn’t even flinch. The color drains from his face, his body deflating. “You can’t be serious.”
My lips clench together and I give him firm nod, then don’t look back as I walk out the door.
Dec 3 – C
“Come on ride the train!” the perky blond in the front of the room circles one arm, then the other, while stomping in place.
Everyone around me shouts back, “Choo choo!” while mimicking her movements.
“I am in hell,” I mutter to my former best friend, Meg, who’s riding the train next to me with the rest of the class.
“You’re doing great!” she non-whispers back, spinning in time with the blond from Hades. “Just keep moving!”
My body spins the wrong way and I slam into a woman my mother’s age. “Sorry,” I mumble, my already flushed face burning even hotter.
She smiles without missing a step. “The first time is always hardest.”
“That’s what she said,” I reply without thinking, and Meg snorts next to me.
The instructor lets out a “wooo!” then sings, “ah ah ah ah ah,” and it’s like Paula Abdul herself possesses the room.
Booties shake, then drop into a twerk. “I think I can, I think I can,” the class sings. I manage a squat when they shift into some version of the stanky leg and I burst out laughing.
“Now this I can do!” I kick out my leg, let my body flail, and vow to never let Meg talk me into another exercise class.
Dec 4 – D
Dangling her hand over the side of the rowboat, her fingers trailed the surface of the water. She gave up paddling long before the sun reached its peak.
Now, as the day’s heat coaxed perspiration from her skin, it took all her strength to stay alert, to maintain hope, to not succumb to the oppressive heat that implores her to sleep.
The water isn’t much cooler than the air, but it provides the perception of relief. The never-ending summer killed off everything in the lake years ago, but when bubbles tickle the tips of her fingers, she barely reacts.
There’s no telling what’s survived in the water’s depths.
Whatever creature is releasing those pockets of air has no quarrel with her. She’s merely passing by, at the mercy of the current to bring her to safety.
Soon she’ll find shore and crawl to the shade and—
Dec 5 – E
“Even if I agreed with your decision, the way you handled it could use some. . . finesse.” I switched the phone to my other ear. The knot in my neck radiated heat every time I moved, but my little brother didn’t care about my problems.
He didn’t care about anyone’s problems.
Which was why our mother asked me to talk to him. To convince him to dial back the vitriol and consider someone else’s feelings for once in his life.
He crunched in my ear and I bit my lip, my eyes rolling skyward. “All I said was I couldn’t make her little dinner party ‘cause I got a maybe date that night. What’s the big deal?”
I inhale through my nose, out through my mouth, and close my eyes. “Because for reasons I don’t understand, gramma wants to see you.”
Dec 6 – F
Fraternization with the enemy meant a one-way ticket to the firing squad. I knew it. Luis knew it. And I guarantee for damn certain Johnny Ray knew it.
So what the blazes was he doing slippin’ past the guard house in the middle of the night?
Ain’t no friendlies outside the base. Believe me, I been there. Sure they got pretty girls — and guys if that’s your fancy — but dallying leads to that moment when you don’t know nothing but the pair of legs wrapped around you.
And that’s when they strike.
Johnny Ray’s just a private. He don’t know shit. But they don’t know that. All’s the enemy sees is a Spiro with a government issued uniform.
And he’s dumb enough to think he can outwit them.
Ain’t nothing I can do for him now. I sneak through the base to my bunk and scratch a note to Luis.
At the rate we’re goin’ through privates we’ll need another shipment before the end of the month.
Dec 7 – G
“Gramma can only read you one story, so you have to pick your favorite.” Mommy leaves me on the floor and my pile of books grows taller and taller until it’s bumping the fan spinning on the ceiling.
How do I pick one? All of my books are my favorite. And Gramma is the best reader. She’s got different voices for all the characters and doesn’t mind when I snuggle so close I bend the pages.
My eyes get big as the pile keeps growing. The fan hits the top book, flinging it across the room. Then another, and another. In the blink of an eye, books cover the carpet in a sea of ponies and witches and rocket ships.
“Oh dear,” Gramma says from the door. “What happened here?”
Tears blur my eyes, even though Gramma’s never yelled at me a day in her life. “I can’t pick my favorite.”
She kneels next to me and runs her hand over the shiny covers. “I can never pick a favorite either,” she whispers. “That’s the beauty of books. Each one is our favorite when we’re reading it. The best ones stay with us right here.” She taps her finger against my chest. “Which one does your heart want?”
I reach for the least shiny book, the one we’ve read the most, and we snuggle on my bed. I fall asleep to her magic voices, safe and filled with love.
Dec 8 – H
“Humpty Dumpty really needs to work on his balance.” My six-year-old looks up from the book in his lap, lips pursed, brows furrowed.
“Humpty doesn’t actually fall from the wall,” I say. “The story is a metaphor for the pedestal upon which we—often foolishly—place our leaders. We elevate these otherwise normal people to astronomical levels that cannot possibly be maintained without some level of corruption or greed or selfishness consuming them. These so-called heroes will inevitably break our trust, and when they do, they’ll not only take their supporters with them, they’ll expect us to pick up the pieces.”
He blinks at me in response. “So we’re king’s men?”
I force out a laugh and tousle his hair. “You know what? You’re right, he just needs to work on his balance.”
Dec 9 – I
Indiana felt like another world. Cornfield and long stretches of road over the incessant flat land, broken up only by billboards advertising fireworks and infertility treatments. For years I’d only passed through the state to the south of us, but today was different.
An unnamed energy hummed between us.
Each mile brought us closer to something we weren’t sure might ever happen. The recent death—drawn out over weeks and then months—still weighed heavy on both our hearts. Inevitable though it may have been, knowing it was coming didn’t make it any easier.
Made today seem impossible.
For months we talked and hoped and planned, but until we got the email that the puppy was ours, we were afraid to hope.
And now, this endless Indiana highway would unite us with our little Gustopher.
Dec 10 – J
Jump through the hoop.
Over the rail.
Under the rail.
Through the tunnel.
Wiggle wiggle wiggle through the spiky things.
Back through the tunnel.
Over the ramp.
Then the teeter totter.
I don’t mean to pause, but this tippy board always freaks me out.
“Johnny, up!” Mama’s voice is low but firm. Her business voice. At home she’s all snuggles and baby talk but she’s super serious on the agility field.
I peek at her and she nods. “Up.”
Before I can think about it too much, I sprint onto the narrow board. Crouch in the middle as it tips forward. Sprint to the ground and back to the rails. Three more jumps and I’m done.
Over.
Over.
Over.
Mama claps and I leap into her arms. She smooshes her face against mine and my tail wiggles. This is my favorite part of competition.
Dec 11 – K
“Keep close.” My sister tugs me closer to her side. The warmth from under her ratty jacket seeps into my skin like a barrier against the frigid, dusty air. We hurry along the edge of the street, weaving around abandoned cars and crumbled concrete. Detritus fills the gutters, stretches into the street.
We’re careful not to step on anything that looks human.
“How much farther?” I ask. The cloth draped over my face muffles my voice, but that doesn’t stop her from raising a brow at me. “Sorry,” I whisper.
It feels like we’ve been walking for days. Weeks. For half our lives. The alerts insisted we’d be safe if we moved south, but the only way to get there is by foot.
On my feet that now ache with each step forward.
“This has to end, right?” I ask.
“We can only hope.”
Dec 12 – L
Losing is not the same as failing.
Without failure, you’ll never appreciate success.
Fall down seven times, get up eight.
You got this, girl!
“Do people actually buy this crap?” The woman tosses the handmade wooden sign onto the table and rolls her eyes at her friend, who laughs. If they realize that I’m sitting here because this is my booth and each piece of crap here is the result of hours with a power chisel and a paintbrush, they don’t show it.
I don’t think they even notice I’m here.
The friend catches my eye and her smile fades. “I’m sure some people find them inspiring,” she says.
Everyone always finds something that speaks to them.
The first woman moves to the end of the table and rifles through a rack of cheaper printed signs. When a smile spreads over her face, I know I’ve got her. She picks it up and I bet myself a giant lemonade which phrase it is.
The friend snorts when she sees it. “I don’t mean to be a bitch, I’m just born that way.”
That lemonade is gonna be so sweet.
Dec 13 – M
“Meenie eenie miney mo!” Jacob claps his hands together. His eyes dance with delight and his gap-toothed smile makes Jessica laugh.
“No, silly!” she says. “It’s eenie meenie miney mo.”
“Meenie mo!” He tosses his head back and laughs at the blue sky above them.
Jessica pokes his belly and he laughs even harder. “Eenie,” she prompts.
His head straightens and he gives her a serious look. “Eenie.”
She nods and they say “Meenie” together. “Miney,” she says.
“Mo!” he shouts at the sky.
“You got it, bro.” She claps and he focuses on her. “Now help me pick which cupcake I want.”
His eyes get big as she holds up the tray of cupcakes their mom packed for the picnic.
“Ready?” she asks.
He nods quickly. “Meenie eenie miney mo!”
Dec 14 – N
Natalia glides across the ballroom as if carried by an ethereal being. Every person in the room watches as her aubergine dress billows behind her, her movements spinning them around and around until they must fight to maintain their equilibrium.
She’s the center of the universe, but she moves as if she’s alone.
The muted swish of her dress and the delicate taps of her feet are only sounds in the cavernous room, and each step draws the crowd closer until the air grows thick with exhalation and their adoration threatens to consume her.
As if released from a trance, the woman stops suddenly. The otherworldly expression she wore moments earlier morphs into a terrified mask.
The crowd is too close.
Too hungry.
She closes her eyes as if drifting away, but there’s no escape.
Dec 15 – O
Owen, our last dog, could never have imagined where life took him. He was born in Zihuatanejo, Mexico, and my ex and I found him at the pet store/vet when he was just twenty days old. We paid a deposit, then visited frequently because in Mexico even a deposit doesn’t guarantee anything, especially if someone comes in with full payment and you’re not there. He came home with us at six weeks, and six months later, he and I were on a plane headed to Michigan.
He loved snow, loved people, loved everything about our new life. Together we moved from my parents’ basement to an apartment, to a house with my now-husband, then to two more houses before cancer decided his life had been good enough.
His legacy lives on through his Instagram account, where hundreds of people mourned his passing along with us. I’d never experienced anything like that before, and I’m grateful for the support our friends showed us.
Dec 16 – P
Playing in front of an audience has never been a dream of mine — unless you count the recurring nightmares since this recital was announced — yet here I am, standing in the wings as the announcer mispronounces my name through the tinny sound system. The squeak of my patent leather shoes drowns out my gasp as I emerge from behind the curtain and into the hot stage lights. My family’s out there somewhere and I’m relieved I can’t see mom’s beaming smile and dad with his phone pointed at me.
The piano sits proudly in the center of the stage, and I trail my fingertips over the keys before sitting. I clear my throat once, twice, then take a deep breath and begin playing. The warm keys feel familiar and I lose myself in the surrealness that sweeps over me whenever my hands touch the piano.
As the final notes fade into the auditorium and the audience claps, I wave into the lights and breathe a sigh of relief.
Dec 17 – Q
“Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow.” The instructor glides over the floor, her movements seemingly effortless despite the heeled sandals strapped to her feet.
The people on either side of me move forward and back. Their steps aren’t quite as fluid as the instructor’s, but they are in time to the Latin music playing softly through the studio’s sound system. Meanwhile I can’t seem to make my body do anything right. I bump into the woman next to me, and when she nudges me away, I trip into the guy on my left and almost knock him over.
“Sorry!” I mutter.
The instructor twirls toward me as I try to recenter myself. “Señora, más suave. Mira.” She swivels her hips and moves her feet gracefully as my mouth falls open.
“Um, I don’t speak Spanish.”
“And you can’t dance either,” someone behind me whispers.
My cheeks flame but before I can flee, the instructor slides her arm through mine, her hand resting on my hip, and moves with me. “Ah, see, is easy.” She winks before spinning to the front of the group. “You just have to believe in yourself.”
Dec 18 – R
Remember your training.
Dad’s voice is so clear in my head I’d swear he’s right behind me. The weight of the knife in my hand grounds me and I take a step closer.
Firm grip.
Don’t show an ounce of uncertainty.
The tip of the blade pierces skin. I expect a reaction, but stillness blankets the room. If anyone dares to judge me, they know better than to utter their disapproval.
Deep cuts. Then finish it off.
The flesh slices like butter beneath sharp steel. Steam rises, fogs my glasses. Dad never warned me about that. Then again, his eyesight’s always been perfect.
When my glasses clear, I spear the meat with a serving fork and set it on the plate next to the turkey.
“Well done, son,” Dad says from the other end of the table, completing the transfer of power with a smile and nod.
Dec 19 – S
“Schnauzie’s gonna schnauz!”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“It’s totally an excuse.”
“You cannot use your breed as an excuse for ignoring me.”
“Schnauzie’s gonna stubborn.”
“How would you feel if I just ignored you when you wanted something?”
“More determined.”
“Ugh!”
::wags::
“What’s so interesting over there anyways?”
“Birdies. Squirrels. And a bunny.”
“I didn’t see a bunny.”
“I didn’t either. But he’s there. I know it.”
“Where’s your bunny?”
“I don’t have a bunny.”
“How do you not have a bunny?”
“You don’t love me very much.”
“You have every creature imaginable.”
“Not a bunny.”
“Maybe Santa will bring you one.”
“Who’s Santa?”
“Big guy with a beard.”
“You mean Daddy?”
“Yes. Tell Daddy to get you a bunny.”
“I. AM. ON. IT.”
Dec 20 – T
Thirst’ll make you do crazy things. As kids they tell us we gotta hydrate to stay alive, but they don’t talk about what happens to a man when he ain’t got nothing to drink.
Now I’m not talking about regular water. It’s been two weeks since a drop of beer or liquor crossed my lips and I swear I should be dead by now. Every time I look in the mirror I half expect to see my face shedding skin like some kinda snake in the desert.
They said the shakes an’ what-not’ll be over soon, and I’m trying my best to believe ‘em, but man, it’d be easier to just roll up in the desert with those snakes.
I’d miss a few people, ‘specially my baby niece. Most of all I wish I could miss my thirst, but it don’t seem to be goin’ nowhere.
Dec 21 – U
“Unless you’re planning to grow two feet in the next half hour, the angel’s not going on top of this tree.” Monica crosses her arms as she stares at the gap between the ceiling and the tip of the most glorious tree we’ve ever had. Her family will be here any minute and the angel in question has been passed down through her family.
Meaning my mother-in-law will notice if the cherub isn’t in her place of honor.
I study the top of the tree, willing a solution to bubble from my self-consciousness.
“I mean it, Jen. She has to be up there.”
Several moments pass before an idea strikes me. I wrap my arm around Monica’s shoulder and lean down to kiss the top of her head. “How flexible are you feeling?”
She pulls back to look at me. “Excuse me?”
“It’s time to bust out your old cheerleading moves.” I crouch in front of her and hold up my hands like I watched the college squad do at my basketball games. Yeah, we’re the almost-stereotypical star basketball player and head cheerleader cliché.
“You asked for this.” She laughs as she grabs my hands and swings her legs over my shoulders, then yelps when I straighten to my full height. “The angel!”
I grab it from the back of the couch and hand it up to her. Her outstretched hand is a few inches short. “Can you pull the tree forward?”
The ornaments jingle as she yanks the tree closer. Then she whoops and claps her hands. “We did it!” She slides down my back and squeezes my shoulders. “How do you feel?”
“Like I sunk a three-pointer at the buzzer to win the championship.”
Dec 22 – V
Varicose veins spider over her legs, masking the history the length of skin and sinewy muscle carries. Lumps and discoloration make it impossible to imagine the reaction the sight of her bare legs once caused—it was said she could stop traffic—but that only happened the one time and she swears it was merely a coincidence.
While her body may have betrayed her, her memories were still as vivid as ever. Of walking into a crowded room and feeling every eye on her. Of knowing that smiling demurely while crossing her legs would cause men to fall all over themselves, desperate for a way to capture her attention.
But now her legs earn her a different kind of attention. Doctors and nurses and even the occasional medical student burst into her room to check her vitals. They ask if she needs anything, but it’s nothing like the simpering men of years past. These children don’t truly see her, don’t understand the things she’s seen.
Her vanity may have faded, but her pride is as strong as ever, and she’s determined to not go out without a fight.
Dec 23 – W
Whispers follow her down the hall, swirling around her as she quickens her pace.
Everyone knows. Everyone knows.
The words repeat in her head to the beat of her footsteps, growing faster and faster as she tries not to run. Because running won’t help. She’s been on the other side of the rumor mill far too often to think that hiding will somehow make the words less hurtful.
Less true.
Pretending this isn’t happening isn’t an option. Standing her ground, staring into the gleaming eyes of the people delighting in her downfall, is the only way to salvage any piece of her dignity.
The exit is only twenty feet away, but she’s too proud to give them the satisfaction. Her feet stop, turn her slowly around. None of her closest friends are in the crowd — a small mercy — but so many of the faces watching her have been where she stands, have suffered from her own words, that a tremor of fear shakes her hands.
Before she can speak, the bell rings. Time freezes for a moment. Then the mob disperses and she exhales. Safe for another hour.
Dec 24 – X
“X marks the spot.” The doctor smiles behind his paper mask and recaps the marker.
I lift my head from the pillow and try to look at my leg. “Did you just draw on me?”
“It’s standard procedure,” says the nurse who’s adjusting the IV running from my arm to a bag of clear liquid dangling above my head.
“Don’t want to replace the wrong knee, now, do we?” The doctor smiles again, but it does nothing to comfort me.
What the hell kind of place is this that they can’t keep track of which limb they’re operating on? I know I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help it. “Is that policy proactive or reactive?”
The doctor’s brows furrow — I’m actually impressed with how expressive he is with the upper portion of his face — and pats the knee in question. “Not me personally. It truly is a formality.”
The tension in my belly eases and I lay back on the pillow as they finish their preparations. Papers rustle behind me as the doctor leaves, then the nurse casually approaches me, wipes something wet on me knee, then scribbles the opposite one.
“What are you—”
She presses her hand over my mouth. “Don’t worry dear. You won’t remember any of this when you wake up.”
As darkness consumes me, I cling to her words, trying to remember, but all I hear is, “she’s ready.”
Dec 25 – Y
Yuletide has morphed into something almost unrecognizable. Presents and sparkles themed outfits and those inflatable lawn ornaments that deflate every morning.
And cookies. Oh so many cookies.
At the heart of it lies a time to be with your family and friends, to reflect on the goodness in our lives, remember those we’ve lost, and hope for better things to come. It’s often hectic and chaotic. These days can be stressful — to the point that some would rather skip the celebration to be alone, while others want nothing more than loved ones to celebrate with.
The build-up lasts for months, and within a week is replaced with paper hearts, teddy bears, and chocolate covered everything. While we’re still in this magical in-between week, I choose to keep reflecting and sending love to those I care about.
Dec 26 – Z
“Zebra!” The woman behind me points across the horizon, her hand far too close to my face.
Despite my irritation, I scan the long grasses for movement but whatever she saw is long gone. “If you shout every time you see an animal, the rest of us will never see anything.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just never dreamed I’d get to see this in person. It’s so exciting!” Her drawling accent clings to her words and
I swallow my frustration.
This is a once in a lifetime experience for me as well, but I get that people respond differently to new situations. While I prefer to absorb my surroundings quietly, this woman apparently screeches like a banshee.
A high-pitched bark comes from behind us. Everyone in the safari-mobile turns around as a fast-moving cat leaps over the dusty road and tackles something in the grass. When a black-and-white striped leg pokes above the grasses, we gasp.
“See what happens when you’re too loud?”
Dec 27 – AA
An accurate kick was all they needed. Just one well-timed snap, a punter who didn’t fumble the ball, and a kicker who was paying attention long enough to connect with the ball before the defense got past the blockers.
One kick, and the championship would be theirs.
But this team has struggled from the beginning. No one would dare question their hearts or their passion, but for some reason, getting the pigskin through the uprights was a feat no one on the team could manage.
True, this was the first year the league introduced field goals for the eight- and nine-year-olds, but half of them play soccer in the summer. Surely someone’s got a leg on them?!
The kicker lines up, ready for the snap, and runs toward it. Everyone in the crown holds their breath as the ball sails up up up and — THUNK! — hits the uprights! The ball falls to the outside but the teammates rush the kicker, celebrating the first time any of them came even close to scoring three points.
Dec 28 – BB
Buried bones. Shredded stuffies. Damaged doorjambs.
Things I used to complain about, but now I long for with the same desperation typically associated with a breakup. But the source of my anguish isn’t living their best life on the other end of town — regardless of what we told the kids — he’s resting in a nondescript wooden box on the bookshelf, wedged between the Works of Charles Dickens and The 9/11 Commission Report.
The phantom jingle of dog tags awakes me in the middle of the night. The spot where his food bowl sat seems achingly bare. His toys remain tucked in the basket by the couch, and no I don’t know how long I’m going to insist they stay there.
You never forget your first love, and I plan to carry him with me forever.
Dec 29 – CC
Chocolate chips and flour cover the counter. A discarded bowl with traces of batter sits near the sink, a licked-clean spoon in the center. The oven hums, the gentle purr promising better times in seven to ten minutes. But my children are nowhere to be seen.
“Who’s cleaning up this mess?” I call out.
Giggles sound from the living room.
I tiptoe down the hall, careful to avoid the squeaky floorboards. Another giggle comes from beneath a pile of blankets on the couch and I sneak closer, then grab the lumps. “Gotcha!”
Squeals fill the air as my two daughters scramble from the couch and wrap their arms around my waist.
“We saved you dough.” My youngest bats her eyes at me.
“You mean you saved me the mess.”
“Mom,” my oldest says, “the cookies are gonna be so bomb.”
“Oh, well in that case, I’m thrilled to clean up for you.”
“Really?” Her eyes go wide.
I tickle them both under their arms. “No! You’re both helping. And if we finish before the timer goes off you can have as many as you want.”
Dec 30 – DD
Double dog dares are the worst! First, they’re always super ridiculous because you wouldn’t need to double dog it if it wasn’t. Second, if you say no to a double dog dare you can never show your face again.
So you have to do it.
“Come on, Ry.” My friends stand behind me, a safe distance from the concrete guardrail that I’m balanced on.
The river beneath me is calm, the current barely visible. Or maybe I’m just so far up I can’t see it. “How come none of you are up here with me?” I ask over my shoulder.
“We dared you,” Shane, the bossiest of our group, says.
I turn my head farther and look him in the eye. “Well, I double dog dare YOU!”
Everyone takes a step away from him and says, “Oooooh!”
“Now you have to, too,” says Josiah.
Shane juts out his chin and approaches me. He glances over the rail at the river, then climbs up next to me. “Should we hold hands?” The mocking tone is obvious, but I don’t miss the slight tremor in his voice.
“Count of three,” I say, ignoring his question.
“One!” he says.
“Two!” I answer.
“Three!” the others shout.
And we jump.
Dec 31 – EE
Everyone either loves or hates New Year’s Eve. There’s no in-between. For some, there’s nothing better than the excitement of welcoming a new year and all the hope and promise it bring alongside a hundred of your closest friends. For others, nothing beats sitting on the couch with a snacks, a bottle of Prosecco, and picture-in-picture of the various celebrations on TV.
I am among the latter. Unfortunately for me, I’m currently surrounded by a hundred of my roommate’s closest friends. Tables loaded with snacks flank the room and I snagged a chilled Prosecco for myself, but that only makes this slightly more tolerable.
As I wander the crowd looking for a quiet place to sit, my traitorous brain reflects on the past year. On my achievements, my frustrations, and where I can do better.
Another swig of Prosecco ought to get rid of that.
Bubbles tickle my throat but do nothing to rid my brain of THOUGHTS.
“Fine,” I mutter to myself. “I will reflect for one minute and that’s it.”
And like that, the floodgate is lifted. The heartbreak of saying goodbye to my sister, of not getting promoted, of not meeting the person who’s supposed to change my life.
But then the happy moments slip in. How close I’ve become with my brother. The joy I felt when I rescued my dog. And the contentment I have with my roommate — even if she did drag me here. So while 2023 may not have brought what I wanted, I’m still here. All I can do is hope for better things in 2024.
I hope you’ve enjoyed these. I’d love to hear which are your favorites!
