All posts filed under: Drama

Unlikely I: The Beginning | A Dribble

{ 50 words } They started out as just mere acquaintances at work, then hanging out often, intimately sharing guarded details of their life stories, getting closer, closer still, eventually becoming best friends forever; an unlikely dynamic duo: the worldly black guy with the strange accent and the enlightened white gal with racist parents. Written January 1, 2002. © 2002-2016 by Brandon L. Rucker. All Rights Reserved. brandonrucker.com | RuckerWrites | @RuckerWrites Amazon | Smashwords

Unlikely II: The Middle | A Dribble

{ 50 words } She’s always on his mind, a ponderous thought of ascending emotions, spoiling his contentment as he imagines a different path of an unknown destiny with her. He could tell her the truth. He could walk up to her right now, take her face into his hands, and just say it. Written January 1, 2002. © 2002-2016 by Brandon L. Rucker. All Rights Reserved. brandonrucker.com | RuckerWrites | @RuckerWrites Amazon | Smashwords

Unlikely III: The End | A Dribble

{ 50 words } “You jerk!” she says, pushing him away, disgusted with him.  “I can’t believe you said that to me.  We can’t do this.  You can’t kiss me.  I can’t be your girlfriend.  It was all so perfect and now it’s ruined.  Why’d you say it?  Wasn’t my friendship enough for you?” Written January 1, 2002.  Originally published in February 2010 by blink-ink [defunct]. © 2002-2016 by Brandon L. Rucker. All Rights Reserved. brandonrucker.com | RuckerWrites | @RuckerWrites Amazon | Smashwords

Turn | A Micro Fiction

{ 486 words } Roger tapped the turn signal down to make a left turn, but immediately realized it was the wrong turn when his daughter started screaming at him. “What the hell are you doing, old man, you were supposed to turn on Binford Ave. Can’t you do anything right, I swear!” He slammed on the brakes but it was too late, the car was too far into the intersection to successfully make the right turn without taking out four other cars and a pedestrian or two who stood on the curb waiting to cross. At only nineteen, Gina was already a lot like her mother, his ex-wife. Loud. Demanding. She seemed to always seethe with anger, never satisfied with anything, especially anything he did. It didn’t matter that he was her father. It didn’t matter that he nurtured her as a small babe when her mother was too stoned to give a damn about the fine art of motherhood.  That just was not a focal point of her miserable existence. Roger drove to …