As the Wolf ran through the woods, he kept looking over his shoulder to be sure he wasn’t being followed. He was almost completely out of breath, hopelessly out of shape, and worried that even those podgy, grubby pigs would be able to catch up with him. It was hard work, huffing and puffing and blowing all those houses down. Especially the brick one. The straw house was the easiest, having been built by the most dim-witted pig of all who obviously knew nothing about architectural infrastructure. That third pig, though, he was smart. Damn bricks. Took him five tries, and the best he could do was make it sway a little. He really needed to start working out again. If anyone in the forest discovered that he was so out of shape, he would be done for. He couldn’t risk ruining his villainous reputation, or his father would kill him. The Wolf family had had the run of the forest for generations, and if he was the one to expose them for the inept useless dogs that they really were, his father would completely disown him.

He kept running farther away from the pigs, but he was quickly developing a splitting pain in his side. He doubled over, tripping himself in the process and falling flat on his long, pointy face. He self-consciously looked around to ensure no one was able to witness his sorry ass. He was such a failure. As he sat there contemplating his languorousness, he heard an extremely irritating, high-pitched sound coming toward him. Was that…singing? He didn’t have time to sit and decipher it, so he quickly (well, as quickly as he could) darted behind a tree to hide. His olfactory sense perked up as the smell of human flesh wafted through the air and into his nostrils. Mmm, young flesh. Female flesh. His mouth began to water and his golden eyes glazed over as he realized how hungry he was.
continue reading "The Secret Life of the Big Bad Wolf"

Allen looked at his watch for what must have been the twentieth time in the past ten minutes. He hated office meetings. They were completely pointless and a tremendous waste of time, usually just meetings to plan more meetings. He would much rather be home in bed with his fling of the month, Izzy. She was sixteen years old, so young, so supple, with ample peaches-and-cream breasts that fit neatly into his hand and long, sinuous hair the color of the sun at noon. Her taut, firm little tummy, plump, corpulent ass, and innocent, cherubic face made her the perfect package, his blue ribbon, his prize hog. He had been with many girls like her before, but he had never gotten such a rush and so aroused as he did with her. He conscientiously glanced around the room to ensure no one was paying attention to him and repositioned his hand to cover his Johnson. Damn, he was hard just thinking about her. When the hell was this stupid fucking meeting going to end?? He looked at his watch again.

Right then, the drone at the front of the room gasped mid-sentence about some new policy they were implementing as five Baton Rouge policemen burst through door to the conference room.
continue reading "Hard Time"

“Ready, set, GO! “  The Church Director shouted as the children scurried everywhere picking up multicolored Easter eggs. The church lawn was scattered with a rainbow of plastic eggs, and the soft yellow, blue, pink, orange, and green pastel colors glimmered in the warm sunlight. Laughter and screams of small children filled the air as their grubby little hands fought over the eggs, which were filled with such things as candy and small prizes like green Army men.

“It’s MINE!” a small voice yelled over the crowd.

“No, it’s MINE!” a bigger voice roared, as a large hand grabbed at the smaller hand’s egg, stole it, and ran off. The sound of crying then filled the air.

“No fighting!” The Church Director yelled, drowned out by the hysterical screams and merriment of the crowd of children.

The six-year-old boy who just had his egg stolen clutched his sky blue basket close to his chest and ran, crying hysterically, but trying to hide it, into the nearby forest. The smell of pine needles, bark, mud, and grass filled his nose as he stepped onto the plush, mushy forest ground. When he looked up, all he could see forever into the never-ending sky was bright green leaves and dark branches looming overhead like arms of demons. It was shady, almost completely dark, as the sun had very little space to peek at him.

As he continued deeper into the woods, his knuckles became whiter and whiter around his basket. He turned to look back, but he could no longer see or hear the church festivities. He plopped down onto the plush ground, tears streaming down his rosy red, plump apple cheeks. His crystal clear blue eyes looked straight ahead, terrified and wishing he would have never left his mommy.

He went to place his basket on the ground next to him so that he could look around to get his bearings, but it was stuck on something. He pulled harder, but it didn’t seem to be working. Finally, he stood up and used all of his 50 pounds to pull as hard as he could, and the basket came loose as he fell backwards onto the ground.

Dangling in front of his face hanging from the bottom of the basket was a dismembered human finger. He looked toward the place where his basket had gotten stuck and was horrified to see the head priest’s body laying motionless on the ground. The young boy let out a blood curdling scream, dropped his basket, and sprinted back in the direction he thought he had come from, forgetting all about the Easter egg madness.

So, I decided to take a shot at some children’s stories based on my pets! For those of you who may not know,  I have five pets at home, 3 cats and 2 dogs. My husband and I are always making up stories about what they might be doing while we’re away, and it sparked an idea for a children’s book series. Here is my shot at two stories, one about the day we brought my dog, Tigger, home, and one about the day my cat, Fifi, got out and ran away. We did get her back

Let me know what you think!

continue reading "The House of Five Pets Series"