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The Sunday Squirrel: spoon (encore)

Kayla opened the box as soon as she stepped in the door. Brad had written her name, in the bold slashes that passed for handwriting, with a thick green Sharpie marker. Nestled among the wadded newspaper pages was a…spoon? “What the hell?” She dumped the contents onto the table and smoothed every sheet of print,

The Sunday Squirrel: cheated

Kelly Adams sat on the plush couch in the Dean’s outer office and studied the laces of her lime green Chuck Taylors. Not even nine in the morning and she’d already screwed up. Her dad would be furious, livid, apoplectic. The muted colors and hushed air of the anteroom were a stark contrast to the

The Sunday Squirrel: embarrassment

I pulled into the parking lot of the old McDonald’s where I had worked for six months when I was sixteen, and wondered if anyone I knew still worked there after three years. It was only March, but already warm in the Tucson foothills. With a quick motion, I turned off the engine of the

The sunday Squirrel: love? (encore)

The premise of today’s squirrel was to write a love scene where the characters do not touch, or say anything similar to “I love you”, and there is no internal dialogue. (Think distant 3rd person.) Here’s my attempt at making it clear that these characters love each other… He met her gaze. “Stay.” Her hand

The Sunday Squirrel: vice

Katie stared at the empty carton in horror. How could she be out already? She pawed through the drawer digging out notecards, old pens, a pair of scissors, and a ticket stub. No, no, no. Today was not the day to go cold turkey. Not when she had a presentation in front of the new

The Sunday Squirrel: expectations

Harry’s gaze raked over his apartment. Gone was the undignified mess of laundry, old soda cans and text books. The dirty dishes had been washed and stashed in the cabinet, the magazines neatly stacked. Gina was a smart girl, a good student. She’d appreciate his tidiness, think he was like her. And if they made

The Sunday Squirrel: cook

Kailey set her grandma’s prize-winning lasagna on Todd’s stove. Too bad she wouldn’t be eating any of it. For just a brief moment, she imagined herself sitting at the table, laughing at her witty companion, his chocolate eyes sparkling with interest as he looked at her. Not that Todd would ever be that guy. But