The Starving Activist is the sometimes-home for words. AR Neal (that’s me) finds them, cultivates them, and leaves them here. Enjoy.

InMon: Elephant Soup

It was their favorite restaurant. Genevieve sat in her usual place across from Brian, her summer dress blowing delicately in the breeze that wafted across the restaurant floor. Brian was being coy, trying not to let her catch him as he gazed at her beautiful brown eyes. She knew he was up to something and hoped it was what she suspected; they had been dating for the past year and a half and most recently it had taken a serious turn. Brian had met her folks and they approved of the two, appreciating the fact that although he made his living as a lineman he was established and well-known in the trade. Genevieve knew her dad would not easily give over his one and only daughter to a roustabout or a loafer. As she took another small taste of her appetizer, the waiter showed up. “Is Madame finished with her soup?” He asked as he sat the entrée down. She could see the large diamond solitaire sitting conspicuously next to the edemame. As she looked up, Brian could see the tears forming in her eyes; he reached out to her with his trunk, hoping she would embrace it with hers.Two hundred words, written for InMon.

VisDare10: Superstitious, Pt. 3

Speakeasy #99: Next-door Neighbors