The Trailing Edge

                                    Hunter spied the jackrabbit ahead. His third jackrabbit. I can do it, I can do it. His legs tired and hurting but he swung his arms harder and ran a bit faster. His chest and stomach heaving in unison, desperately working to get air in and out to meet the increasing demand. A stitch ached in his side. I can do it, I can do it. And, the distance to the rabbit was smaller. The rabbit heard the footsteps coming up behind. Faster, Faster, I can do this, I can do this. The rabbit, lungs hurting, legs hurting, bit his tongue, but kept up his pace. Hunter focused only the back of the rabbit. The hard whoosh of air surging through his mouth, in and out of his lungs, filled his ears. Knee up, knee up, knee up, knee up. Hunter was on the heels of the jackrabbit. Only a leap, only a leap, wait, wait, NOW! Leaping, Hunter broke the tape, the f...

               One fine sunny day, a royal herald tacks a royal proclamation, announcing the King’s Ball, on a tree by the forest road. The tree is a sweet Honeysuckle named Cinderella. Cinderella is unhappy. Her evil stepmother and her wicked stepsisters are Ginkgo trees. Cinderella's family likes tormenting her. The evil stepmother and wicked stepsisters bloom pretty but have really really stinky flowers, shedding them all around, hiding Cinderella's lovely honeysuckle fragrance. A Tree Fairy passing by stops and reads the royal proclamation. She chats with Cinderella as tree fairies like doing. Cinderella tells of her tale of woe. The Tree Fairy takes pity and grants a wish. Cinderella wishes to go to the King’s Ball. The Tree Fairy Godmother transforms Cinderella into a human girl - her green leafy canopy into long reddish hair, her branches into slender arms, her trunk into long legs, and, her brown rough bark into a glittery...

It wasn’t the half-eaten heads littering her backyard that upset Grandma. Nor the splintered backdoor. It was the bad manners.    "Ugg!" shuddered Grandma. She retrieved her lace fan from her bag and with a disgusted look on her face, cooled herself. "Those unruly zombies ate with their hands. There is no call for them to be eating with their hands at all. I shall teach them the benefits of knives, forks, and napkins." "Grandma, I don't think zombies are interested in improving their table manners." "Pish," she said. "They are in dire need of training." Pointing her fan at me, "I am appointing you as my Aide-de-Camp. Go get the bear traps and shotguns. We are going recruiting students." I scrunched up my face, "What's an Aide-de-Camp, Grandma?" "It's a fancy name for a ten-year-old granddaughter helping her grandmother catch zombies." I couldn't help but smile. Me, an Aide...

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