Eenie Meenie Minie Mo

Eenie


Jennifer was drunk. A great evening with her friends always
ended like that, just as she liked it. Her ears were buzzing from the
loud music in the club. She was unsteady on her feet not only due to
the alcohol but mainly because her heels were that little bit too high
and she had been dancing all night.


Around two o'clock in the morning, she decided she had
enough. Early for her, far too early for her friends who dismissed her
slurred excuses with a pitying laugh. She stumbled into the cold night
air and momentarily felt almost sober.


"Alright, love?" One of the bouncers had seen her struggle
and held the door for her.


She smiled at him. "Sure," she said, and tried to steady
herself as she walked, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of
seeing her trip again. She didn't notice the man who followed her out
of the club.


He had been watching her for a good half hour and she was
turning him on. She was dancing provocatively, raising her arms above
her head, showing him her naked stomach and flashing her legs. She was
toying with him, making him hot, and she was enjoying every minute of
it. He was dying to give her one, it was what she wanted and certainly
what he needed. He couldn't believe his luck when she left the club by
herself. Obviously she wanted him to follow her. So he did.



Jennifer hadn't got far when she noticed a shadow behind
her. She slowed down to let the person pass, but they didn't. Instead,
they caught up with her and walked beside her. She risked a quick
glance and recognised one of the men in the club. A sleazy looking guy,
with a dirty grin and a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. Jennifer
decided that she didn't want to know and slowed down even more.



The man followed suit. "I was watching you dance," he said
instead of an introduction.


Jennifer shivered and drew her coat closer around her. She
didn't reply.


"Could be a bit more friendly to me, now that you've lured
me all the way out here in the freezing cold," he said.



"I didn't lure you, I don't even know you," Jennifer said,
but her words were little more than a whisper. She changed tactics and
sped up, but he kept up with her effortlessly. He grabbed her arm.



"Wassa matter with you?" he asked. "First you turn me on and
now you give me the cold shoulder? Well it doesn't work like that,
bitch!"


He had backed her against the wall and pressed both her
wrists against it with strong hands.


"I?I didn't turn you on," Jennifer stuttered. To her utter
dismay, she found tears stinging her eyes. "I mean, I didn't want to?I
didn't even see you?Please let go of me, you are hurting me."



He paid no attention to her pleas. He was pressing his body
again hers, trying to kiss her but she managed to move her head. He was
as drunk as she was, unsteady on his feet and not quite in control of
his movements. He tried to grab both of her wrists with one hand and
feel her up with the other, but as he let go of her for a brief moment,
Jennifer saw her chance and managed to bring up her fist and punch him
in the throat. His head rocked backward and she pushed him as hard as
she could. He stumbled, and suddenly she was free.


Frightened out of her wits, unaware that she was screaming
at the top of her voice, Jennifer ran blindly into the road. She never
saw the car that hit her and killed her instantly.



Meenie


At five foot four inches, Paul was used to being overlooked
and struggled in crowded places like this. His spectacles had been
knocked off as he turned around, but fortunately landed on his dinner
tray, neither in his soup nor in his drink. Paul squinted, trying to
make his way through the group of people waiting to be served, and was
lucky to find a seat. As he lowered himself onto the chair, conscious
of the fact that he could see neither chair nor table very clearly, he
tried not to spill his lunch.


Hastily he began to eat. He had to be back at work in half
an hour, not so much because his boss was watching the clock but
because he had to prepare to meet an important client. He was lucky
that he had been given Mr O'Sullivan's account, and he was determined
not to make a mess of it.


As he was eating his soup, his hand went to the ring he wore
on a chain around his neck. He played with it absentmindedly,
remembering his wife who used to wear it, and smiled.


A scream from the counter interrupted his reflections. For a
moment he thought someone had dropped something and turned around.
Three men were standing at the counter where minutes before he had paid
for his lunch, aiming handguns at the cashiers and customers, shouting
orders for money and wallets to be handed over. Paul watched the scene
in a daze, still holding the spoon in his hand. He watched as one of
the men held out a plastic bag and waved his gun for valuable to be put
in.


Sean's eyes darted around the room. It was not his first
robbery, but this place was crowded and he was aware that the sheer
number of people could become a problem. He motioned with his gun for
people to put their wallets and watches into the bag he held out to
them while scanning for potential danger. A guy with glasses sat
motionlessly, and Sean had to prod him with the gun to get a reaction.



"Your money, mate," he said. His voice was flat and
uninterested. The guy reached into his pocket and dropped something
into the bag. Sean did not check what it was. He had spotted something
else. "The ring, too," he said, and pointed to the gold band the guy
was wearing on a chain around his neck.


Paul was frozen with fear when the robber came toward him.
He didn't hear the command but followed the movement of the gun. His
hand clutched his wife's ring and he shook his head.


Sean grew impatient. What was wrong with the guy, didn't he
see the gun? Sean went to grab the ring, but the little man who looked
like he was about to shit himself flinched backward, still clutching
the ring tightly in his hand, and fell off his chair. Sean watched him
scramble to his feet, and grabbed his arm as he tried to back away.



"Give me the ring," Sean hissed.


Paul shook his head again. "It was my wife's," he whispered.
"She died in a car crash last year. It is all I have left." He looked
at the robber who was easily six foot tall. His face was pitiless, a
fact that increased Paul's determination. This man was never going to
touch Laura's ring.


His usually tidy shirt stuck to his back as he was sweating
with fear. He squared up to Sean, trying to look taller than he was.
"If you want that ring, you will have to kill me," he said.



Sean hesitated for a second, then grinned. "No problem,
mate," he said and raised the gun, pressing the barrel tightly onto
Paul's forehead. Paul closed his eyes.


Sean pulled the trigger.



Minie


"Look at the sissy," Dennis said. He was the oldest in the
class, but by no means the smartest. What he was lacking in the brains
department he made up with attitude, and his friends loved it. He was a
born leader, in his opinion. This new boy, on the other hand, was a
born loser.


Dennis had been quick to point out that Louis was wearing a
hand-knitted jumper when he joined the class on the first day, much to
the amusement of his friends. At lunchtime, he had spilled his tomato
soup onto it. The next day Louis came to school just wearing a shirt.



"What's the matter, has mommy not knitted you a new jumper
yet?" Dennis asked, looking around for approval which was quickly given
by the crowd in the form of cheers. Louis walked past, not favoring
Dennis or his gang with so much as a look. Dennis jumped off the wall
he had been sitting on.


"Hey, sissy-boy, I'm talking to you," he shouted.



Louis stopped and slowly turned around to look at Dennis.
"My name is Louis," he said quietly, then turned away again. He had not
made two steps when Dennis was over him, punching and kicking him until
his friends pulled him away.


Louis missed school for two days, and Dennis was suspended
for a week. When he came back, he cornered Louis in the washroom.



"I will get you for this," he said. Louis tried not to
flinch as Dennis brought his face closer. "Your life will not be worth
living," he said ominously.


"If you touch me, you'll get suspended again," Louis said
shakily. Dennis grinned. He slapped Louis hard. "Oh yeah?" he asked.
"Who's gonna tell?"


Louis held his cheek and did not answer.


"If you tell anyone, I kill you," Dennis simply said, and
walked away. Louis began to cry.


School became a nightmare for Louis. Dennis and his gang
were following him everywhere, and Louis, who didn't doubt Dennis'
threats for a moment, had nowhere to turn. They were taunting him,
beating him, stealing his lunch and his homework, and one day they
broke his bicycle. Louis was desperate. He couldn't sleep and stopped
eating, but how could he answer his mother's concerned questions?
Dennis would kill him, of that he was sure. Sometimes he was wondering
if that was such a bad thing.



"Your English essay," Dennis said, holding out his hand.



"I haven't got it," Louis whispered. It was a lie. He had
spent hours on in the previous night and was proud of his work. He was
not going to lose it to Dennis.


Dennis snapped his fingers impatiently, and his gang moved
into a close circle around Louis, who began to shake uncontrollably. He
tried to back away, but hit the windowsill behind him. As Dennis came
closer, he first sat, then climbed onto the windowsill.



"Leave me alone," he said.


Dennis stopped. "Don't be stupid, sissy-boy, what are you
gonna do, jump? Just give me the damn essay or I'll beat the crap out
of you and get it anyway. Hand it over!"


Louis stood up on the windowsill. He looked out of the
window and saw students and teachers walking below. They were playing
or talking, some of them sitting on benches, eating their lunch or
working. It was a warm day, uncharacteristically sunny for the time of
year, and most of them were wearing short sleeves. Louis wore a jumper
to cover the bruises on his arms. Suddenly his choice was easy. He
turned back to Dennis.


"You're not having my essay," he said.


"We'll see, " Dennis said and tried to grab him.



Louis jumped.



Mo


[Note: This is a 55-word story. The aim is to tell a whole
story, with a beginning, a plot and an ending, in exactly 55 words.]



The wolf howled in agony as the trap snapped shut around his
leg. Frantically he began to pull, but the trap's sharp teeth dug
deeper into his flesh, making escape impossible. In an act of
desperation, he began to chew through his own leg.


He escaped, but died two days later from loss of blood.






Personal Epilogue


"I know you don't like it, but you can try," he says. "I'll
help you."


"I don't want to try," I say. "It scares me."



He takes my face between his hands and looks at me,
lovingly. "I know darling," he says. "We do it together."



"I don't want to do it at all," I snap. I can feel myself
getting agitated. Why can't he leave it alone? I don't want to do it,
so sue me! I'm beginning to panic now, determined that he won't make me
do it. It's not such a big deal really, but by now I am in a state and
basic survival instincts have taken over. My legs want to run, my heart
races, tears sting my eyes. I don't want him so close to me so I take a
step back, then another one.


He raises his hands trying to calm me down. "Doesn't
matter," he whispers softly. "Everyone has phobias, I don't like
heights, hey, no big deal. Maybe some other time."


He means well but only succeeds to frighten me more. Why
can't he drop it? Why is it so important to him to make me do something
I am terrified of? And he wants me to go through it again?



My hands are shaking. "I think you better leave now," I
whisper. My throat is dry, my voice barely my own.


He looks at me in disbelief. I don't recognise him, to me he
looks like a monster. Every happy moment, every loving word is
forgotten in favor of this one, horrible scene. I cannot confront my
phobias. Not even for him.


"Get out," I say again. I push him toward the door, and
surprisingly easily he is letting it happen. I am crying now, knowing
that this is all wrong, but unable to stop myself. I need him to leave
before I totally lose control, and I need him to stay gone so that he
cannot try again to make me do this. It is getting dark as panic takes
over. I slam the door and collapse on the floor, weeping hysterically.
I barely hear him banging on the door calling my name, or the ringing
of the telephone. I am trapped in my dark mind, frightened out of my
wits of something that I will not, cannot do.


Love him.