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Potty Mouth

Me: It's not rat poop it's jelly beans.

Co-worker: How can you be sure?

Me: Because I ate one.

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Short Story: Distraction

It was an office, not unlike any of the other offices around the city. There were windows, visible to the lucky few cubes on the ends of the rows. Then there was Vera's cube, situated next to the row of manager's offices. Today she was lucky, someone had left their door open and precious slant of sunlight escaped, warming her back and washing out half of her computer screen. "I never realized your hair was red," Tracy dumped a large stack of paper on her desk, "The florescent lights make everything look so soupy." "What is that?" she pointed at the stack of paper. Tracy only offered compliments when he wanted a favor. "I need this entered," he smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "You have a secretary," Vera waved a freckled hand to her left, "Ask him." "He's sick," Tracy gave her puppy-dog eyes, batting his long dark eyelashes. Vera sighed and fought back a smile. Tracy was such a s...
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Poetry and Stuff

Grief:Peripheral The flicker of bluish light filters out what is missing; there is only one set of boots by the door, an apple sits on the counter uneaten, and even if you don’t make a sound, the notch in your heart is nothing personal. ____________________________ Yeah, I know I said no poetry, but I lied. From The Culling, because what girl doesn't dream of  owning a library with a ladder?  I just posted the last chapter of The Bond, which I'm not 100% satisfied with.  It is the end of this novella, but the story continues in the next book of the series.  One of my biggest problems is I don't have a title for the next novella.  The working title was "The Break," which doesn't really work.  If you have an idea or two, throw 'em in the comments.  
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Short Story: Spilled Coffee

“Ooooooh Veeeera, why are you still here?” Tracy walked by Vera’s cube, a white coffee mug in one hand. “I’m working on the report that you need on Monday,” Vera spun in her chair to face him, “You know, the one you didn’t ask for until it was 3:30 PM on the night before Thanksgiving.” Tracy lifted his mug as if he were about to toast her, “You can do it on Monday, as long as it’s on my desk by eight.” “I’m not coming in at six in the morning on a post-holiday Monday.  I’ll just get it done tonight,” Vera turned her back towards Tracy.  There was no point in arguing with him, he always won.  She continued working, setting up different fields and writing queries.  She was so immersed in her work, that a sudden movement off to her left startled her.  Caught off guard, Vera jerked, her hand connecting with a coffee mug. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, the flash of Tracy’s blonde curls, the tidal wave of coffee cresting the lip of the mug, and...
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