The headphones were on. They had been utilized on purpose. She could hear her mom yelling in the background, but couldn’t make out exactly what the yelling was about. That was exactly why she had put them on. She knew her mom would enter her room at any minute, and she could pretend that she hadn’t heard any of the previous yelling.

I recently discovered I could make fudge with just chocolate chips, sweetened condensed milk, vanilla extract, and a thick pot on slow heat. I tried it with dark chocolate chunks and I tried it with semi-sweet chocolate chips. It’s better with both kinds. It comes out pretty bad with just the dark chocolate. The best add-ins are crushed almonds and marshmallows – what you get from that is Rocky Road. It takes about twenty minutes from start to fridge, and then it takes about six months to work off the twenty pounds you gain from eating it.

The boy walked down the street in a carefree way, playing without notice of what was about him. He didn’t hear the sound of the car as his ball careened into the road. He took a step toward it, and in doing so sealed his fate.

“What is the best way to get what you want?” she asked. He looked down at the ground knowing that she wouldn’t like his answer. He hesitated, knowing that the truth would only hurt. How was he going to tell her that the best way for him to get what he wanted was to leave her? He was an expert but not in a discipline that anyone could fully appreciate. He knew how to hold the cone just right so that the soft server ice-cream fell into it at the precise angle to form a perfect cone each and every time.

The shades were closed keeping the room dark. Peter knew that he should open them and let in the sunlight so he could begin the day, but he didn’t have the energy or willpower. Nothing had gone as expected the day before and he no longer wanted to spend the energy to begin a new day. He stared at the shades wondering if there was a way to disappear from the reality of the world for the rest of the day.

What were they eating? It didn’t taste like anything she had ever eaten before and although she was famished, she didn’t dare ask. She knew the answer would be one she didn’t want to hear.

The irony of the situation hadn’t escaped her. She had taken years to sculpt the perfect persona with the perfect look that she shared on Instagram. She knew her hundreds of thousands of followers envied that life she showed and stayed engaged with her because they wanted that life too. The truth was that she wanted the perfect life she portrayed more than any of her fans. The fact was that despite all the perfection she shared on social media, her life was actually more of a mess than most.

Sitting in the sun, away from everyone who had done him harm in the past, he quietly listened to those who roamed by. He felt at peace in the moment, hoping it would last, but knowing the reprieve would soon come to an end. He closed his eyes, the sun beating down on face and he smiled. He smiled for the first time in as long as he could remember.

The paper was blank. It shouldn’t have been. There should have been writing on the paper, at least a paragraph if not more. The fact that the writing wasn’t there was frustrating. Actually, it was even more than frustrating. It was downright distressing. Trees. It was something about the trees. The way they swayed with the wind in unison. The way they shaded the area around them. The sounds of their leaves in the wind and the creaks from the branches as they sway, The trees were making a statement that I just couldn’t understand.

What if dogs were racist? Would they care about fur color….. “son, only play with other tan dogs”? Or maybe it would depend on breed, “honey, only play with other German Shepards, never poodles”. Better yet it could depend on occupation. “I’m a sled dog while you’re only a running companion, leave me alone”. Maybe the neighborhood they live in could be the way they choose which dogs to associate with and which to shun?