Life is Like a Wheel
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Part 1

I went to the hospital to gloat. It sounds a shitty thing now. Why do people do that? Gloating seems like the worst thing; not just enjoying the misfortune of others (there is a word for that) but showing it … even letting the victim see your smug satisfaction.

Here we are at the halfway point; I hope that my readers are enjoying it as much as I did writing it.

Part 20

As I made ready for bed I thought about the evening. Had I been too impetuous? Was I wrong in singing with the Four Winds in public? Was I too brazen in putting Gaurav on the spot? I savoured the taste of his cum in my mouth before I brushed my teeth and decided that what had been done; is done.

The Boy

“I am still shaking from being chosen as an Umbra Girl! I even got a squad and everything. Can you believe it? Me? Of all people? I’m so excited, I just can’t wait till they let me out into the field!”

The boy grew a bit wary seeing the talking dog get rid of his savior. However, his desire to be able to help others had overwritten any trepidation that had taken over him. If only he had power, then he could have saved them. That was all he could think about.

Now that I had finally decided not to stand for re-election in November, I got to thinking about other things but primarily Kelly, getting married and then what?

The ‘then what’ part was easy. A big grand-canyon shaped abyss. I had no firm idea what I was going to do once I was no longer Sheriff. My fall back was to work with Danny SWA. He was always advertising for rescue drivers so there was a job for me if I wanted it but something inside of me was telling me that something else would come up when the time came.

For a small southern town, Benton puts on an amazing number of seasonal celebrations. One of those is the “The Fireman's Summer Fair”. The purpose of the fair is to raise money for our local volunteer fire departments. Benton has three I believe. Our town is really too small to have standing fire fighting force so we depend on local volunteers. In order to raise money, a number of local programs are put on, local youth's display talent shows, each of the three fire stations take turns selling hot plates, anything from smoked chicken to fresh fried fish, even tacos and tamales.

The next two weeks the band does four gigs and head home. Even Lisa was worn out from the pace they had been keeping. She had to buy a new box of drum sticks from a music store after their third gig. One of her sticks had split right in half while she was performing. Luckily for her she had a spare on hand.

She looks over towards Lindsey and notices she was sound asleep on the sofa across from her. Kaja was sitting at the small table with her laptop opened working on inventory and sales. Jamie and Cindy were in the back of the bus asleep.

Leader of the Pack Part 4

After we had kissed the guys goodnight we walked back to the apartment. Kelly was very quiet and went straight into the toilet when we let ourselves in. When she came out she remarked that it had been fun getting screwed standing up but the juices tended to run down her leg as we walked home.

Graphic created by Patricia Marie Allen.
Background from Pixabay, model photo by Spencer Russell on Upsplash

My name is Rose. I’m about five foot eight, and I’ve got light red hair; pretty close to strawberry blonde. All in all, I'm a pretty normal woman.

I was at the SWEET (South Western Exposition for the Embetterment of Transpeople) convention along with eleven other women named Rose. Each of us had given a nickname so that we could be distinguished between each other. One of the women was dressed like a cowgirl, or at least someone from the country, and seemed very reluctant to say anything. When she insisted she be called Jeff, I figured whatever was eating her must have a terrible case of indigestion. I figured she wanted to be left alone, and was chatting with a woman sitting beside me, when one of the women suggested that we all give our stories of how we came to be called Rose.

Hand in My Pocket

Chapter 7a

Nurse Joe
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Just because I am big doesn’t mean I am stupid. In fact, I am pretty smart. I was just a big guy from an early age; big and too strong for all the other kids. That got me into trouble, and trouble kept me away from classes.

“I’m sorry sir, but I’m not allowed to discuss that,” Sophie said as she poured the passenger his coffee. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“Non, that will be all,” the middle-aged businessman replied in his refined Parisian accent. Sophie dutifully bobbed a curtsey and dragged her trolley back to the kitchen, where her supervisor was waiting with a sympathetic smile on her face.

“I couldn’t help but hear that, honey,” Annabelle said softly. “You got another one of those questions?”

The trial starts and Erica gets a precursor of the abusive cross examinations awaiting her.

Part 17

I chatted with the guys while Tom did his thing. There was Alan on the piano, Joe on drums, Alec on bass and Chico on guitar. When Tom brought us the discs I found out these guys were called the ‘Four Winds’ and the album we had just cut as play was called ‘Four Winds and a Gayle.’ So shoot me, I didn’t get to name it.

Erica has to 'meet the family'

Chapter Two - Proof of Life

The search continues for kidnap victim Sharon Granger who handcuffed herself to mysterious case that is so badly wanted by underworld criminals. But is Sharon really a victim?

Casey looks at her wives “are sure about this, Charlotte?”

“Yes, I’m sure about us leaving and being the third wife in our polygamy marriage.” Charlotte didn’t mind being the third wife.

“Okay, when the tide comes in, we are going to leave.” Casey needs to inform their Captain they were leaving.

“Okay. I do want to call my aunt and inform her.” Charlotte figures Cheshire needed to know she was heading towards England.

“Okay.” Casey turns and heads out of their bedroom to speak with the Captain.

The Helper
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I had not realized how far the house was from the main road until the taxi finally drew up beside it. It was a large house with a veranda on all sides, even larger facing the sea. Mr Golbenkian was waiting for me near the front door. He was seated in his electric wheelchair. I had not met him before then, but his warm brown eyes were as friendly as his voice on the phone.