Leslie breathed in the delicious fall air as she strolled down the trail after her young children. She could hear them around the corner of the trail, a trail she could walk blind. For a moment Leslie closed her eyes and felt the warm sun on her face. Until she heard the high-pitched squeals and immediately imagined the worst. That is, the worst for some poor toad that her children were chasing.
It was Leslie who squealed when she rounded the bend and saw what they were holding. It was the most adorable tabby kitten she had ever seen. “What on earth?” she said under her breath as she fell to her knees before the kitten.
“Can we keep him, Mama?” her oldest, Trevor, bounced up and down.
“Pweeeas, Mama?” her two year old, Lyle, sang, handing the kitten to Leslie.
Leslie held the tiny kitten, who snuggled into her strong, supportive arms and began purring immediately. How rare to see such a sweet thing out here in the wild! She wondered how it had ever survived the night. “Where is your, Mama?” Leslie whispered to the kitten. Leslie had held many farm kittens in her life and knew this one couldn’t have been more than 6 weeks old. Her brow furrowed as she considered the reality that it was probably not accidental if so young a kitten was out in the wild. Likely someone had offloaded it to thin their growing supply. But this one wasn’t even old enough to be weaned! Leslie puzzled, and snuggled the kitten deeper into the crook of her arm, protectively.
“What do you think your Papa will say?” she asked her boys.
“Cute!” Lyle sang out. They all laughed.
“Yes, your Papa definitely has a soft spot for cuteness,” Leslie chimed in.
“I think he’ll love it as much as we do!” Trevor said, still bouncing.
“I do to,” Leslie said, standing up and walking back towards the car with the kitten in tow.
Cedar
Mercedes leaned over the pot of boiling water and stirred it slowly with a wooden spoon. Although she was tall enough to stand on the ground and cook, she stood on a stool instead, to remind her mom who sat on the couch in the living room just in front of her, that she was still just a kid.
“A mature eight year old,” Mercedes would flatter herself. “But still, I’m just eight.”
For the past three months, since the baby came, Mercedes had been given the task of making dinner, which mostly consisted of pasta with red sauce or pasta with yellow “sauce” and on a rare occasion she’d make grilled cheese sandwiches with a side of carrot sticks. At first she felt rather proud of herself. Her parents had played up her role as big sister, but after about a month of dinner, and now laundry, Mercedes called her parents’ bluff, and despised the extra chores.
“There’s child labor laws against this!” She’d whisper to herself.
Continuing to stir, She sighed loudly so that her mom could hear. Mercedes glanced up, but her mom hadn’t noticed. Instead, her mom was fully enveloped in the presence of the baby boy she held. He had just finished nursing, and her mom was talking to him in a funny, high-pitched voice while she patted his back. Mercedes sighed again, this time adding in a groan just for emphasis, but as she did, Baby Christopher burped and spat up all over the rag his mother held under his chin; she laughed and congratulated him on his successful belch. Mercedes could feel a lump form in her throat and heat rise into her face. She hated that kid.
For eight years it had just been her and her parents. They were perfect together – just the three of them. Then, his royal cuteness, Prince Christopher came and stole her parents’ affection. She had heard her parents tell their friends with a blush that it had been an accidental pregnancy, but deep down, she had convinced herself that she wasn’t enough – they needed something (or in this case someone) new.
Mercedes slammed the wooden spoon down upon the granite countertop and hot water flung up in her face.
Her mom glanced up. “Are you okay, Sweetheart?”
It didn’t hurt as bad as she expected, but she took the opportunity.
“Noooooo-uh!” Mercedes wailed. “I buuuuuuurrrrrrned myself-uh! Owwwwwwww-uh!”
“Well, honey, you need to be more careful,” was her mom’s response. “Settle down, you’re upsetting Christopher.” She looked back down at the baby, “It’s okay my little button, Sissy just got a little owie, it’s okay, don’t cry.”
Mercedes could hardly stand it. She cracked a handful of pasta in the pot, and glaring at her mom and little brother, she spat in the water. This time, she was glad her mom hadn’t noticed.
Emily M.
“What is it?” Commander Vic asked, looking down at the contraption Fyodor had just put on the table.
“It diffuses bombs.”
“Why is it—so—cute?”
“Ah … uh, the cuteness was accidental. It wasn’t factored into the, you know … it serves no purpose. The design was entirely pragmatic. It’s a coincidence that it looks, you know …”
“Kinda like a kitten,” Commander Vic said, with his head on one side, squinting at the robot.
“My teammates and I decided on Baby Snowy Owl,” Fyodor replied.
“Could you redesign it to be less cute?”
“Yes, but not by the deadline. Does it matter?”
Commander Vic put his hands on his hips. “Sure, it matters,” he said. “What if the thing blows up?”
“Sir?”
“What if it fails to diffuse the bomb, and gets blown up?”
Fyodor paused, wondering whether to point out that the Baby Snowy Owl was just a robot. “On the rare occasion that—”
“We don’t need something cute getting blown up. This job is hard enough. We don’t need that. Do we?”
“Uh … well … ”
“Make it uglier,” Commander Vic said briskly, turning to some papers and beginning to shuffle through them, indicating that the discussion was over. “By the deadline.”
Fyodor picked up the robot and left the room.
**
Bridget heaved a big sigh when he told her. “Fyodor! We already tried!”
“Let’s give it a mouth.”
“Out of what,” said the hunched-over Bridget with her face smooshed into her hand.
“A big vicious mouth with pointy teeth, underneath the part that looks like a beak.”
“Then it’ll look like something out of a nightmare,” Bridget said. She perked up. “Let’s do it.”
Emily H.
The theft was accidental, and in the end, all was forgiven.
It all started when Mrs. Myrna Smithy woke up on Saturday morning and decided that she would visit the antique shops that day. It had been a long time since she had last gone antiquing — two weeks, at least — and the urge to go out in search of treasure was strong that day. The sun was shining, the air was brisk, and Myrna was a seasoned antiquer. No doubt, the end of that day would find a new (old) serving tray adorning her dining room table, or a new (old) bowl filled with fruit in the kitchen, or a new (old) hat atop her head.
As she ate her breakfast across the table from Mr. Walter Smithy, the telephone rang. On the other end of the phone was Myrna and Walter’s dear, beloved daughter Bessie, whose own dear, beloved daughter Emma was two years old and without a doubt the most adorable creature ever to walk the earth, at least in the eyes of Myrna and Walter. Bessie was calling that morning to inform her mother that Emma had been asking repeatedly for her Mammie (Myrna), and was wondering if Emma could please come spend some time with her that day.
Myrna thought of all the antique treasures waiting to be discovered. She thought of Emma’s precious face and golden curls. She decided that a small sweet companion would be no terrible thing on such a day.
And that is how, a short while later, Myrna found herself walking into the Antique Emporium with a small chubby hand clasped tightly in hers. Emma, though two, was a good little girl, and was holding on to her Mammie’s hand tightly. Her other hand was deep in the pocket of her purple overalls, and as she walked hand-in-hand with her Mammie, her golden curls bounced in two tightly-pulled pigtails. The effect was charming, and the pair of them melted the hearts of all they passed. All, that is, except the aging proprietor of the Antique Emporium, who viewed all children as a nuisance and a likely threat to the safety of his wares. His name was Amos, and he eyed them closely.
As Myrna made her way amongst brown dishes and mint bowls and pinkish-clear serving platters, past rare old paintings and first-edition books, and on to musty hats and yellowed gloves and dainty doilies, Emma kept one hand firmly clasped in Myrna’s, and the other secure in her pocket. She looked wide-eyed at cups with Mickey Mouse on them and Barbie dolls still in their boxes and records of music by Elvis and the Monkees. But she was a good little girl, and she loved her Mammie, and she’d heard her say “don’t touch anything” and so she didn’t.
Mammie found not only a serving tray for her dining room table, but also a bowl for fruit in her kitchen and and hat to place atop her head. She paid for all three items, but Amos was still eyeing them closely as they began to exit his shop. And Emma, who had been so very well-behaved through that whole big store, happened to see a golden apple paperweight right by the exit. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She couldn’t take her big green eyes off of it, and as Mammie passed through the door to leave, Emma’s hand finally left its pocket, reached out, and snatched the golden apple.
Amos, of course, saw this none-too-subtle theft, and was immediately in pursuit of the toddler.
****(timer)
He hobbled out to the parking lot and caught up to the duo as Myrna was placing her parcels in the trunk of her car. He was all set to lecture them soundly, with promises of incarceration for the little thief, but before he could begin he looked down at Emma, who looked back up at him with big weepy eyes and held the golden apple out to him. He looked at the sweet little girl, offering him back what was his, and something about her cuteness suddenly melted him. He smiled, retrieved the paperweight from her hands, and patted her on the head.
Myrna, who had been oblivious to the theft, was shocked. But if Emma’s cuteness could melt a crotchety old stranger like Amos, there was nothing it couldn’t accomplish with her Mammie, who clucked her tongue once in an attempt at scolding, then buckled Emma into her little car seat and took her home to fill a bowl with fruit.
Elisa
The challenge: Random Word Challenge! Write a story or story fragment using all three of the words:
Cuteness
Rare
Accidental
20 minutes
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