I told her to lose the yoga pants.

Get hot again, I said.

I caught her draping her tits on that biker dude’s arm and I lost it.

I’m hot, baby, she said.

That wasn’t what I meant.

 

Thirty-three words ending with “That wasn’t what I meant.” The possibilities are truly endless. Why don’t you take a shot?

He always felt guilty about it afterward.

“Here, Chloe, let’s get you into the cart,” he said calmly as he lifted her up. Nothing strange about that, he thought as he began his shopping. One by one, he put orange juice, cereal, granola bars into his cart, stocking up. His heart pounded.

He meandered to the other side of the store, eyeing the cheap sandals and colorful towels.

“Chloe, sit down please,” he said distractedly. “Chloe, want to pick out a doll?” he said brightly. He quickened his pace, nearly rushing toward the toy section. Finally, he thought. Calm down, he thought.

He slowed down as he neared the doll aisle. He lurked, wishing that he didn’t feel like such a creep for being here. He peered down the aisle, thrilled to find it empty.

“Okay, Chloe, Daddy’s going to buy you a doll. Any doll you want, okay?” he smiled at his four-year-old daughter. He moved slowly down the aisle, as if in a trance, and straightened each doll. He neatened their clothes and caressed their hair. He used one finger to manipulate their moveable eyelids, opening each lovely eye so that every doll was looking at him.

“Daddy, I want to get out!” Chloe screamed from the cart.

“No, no, Chloe, you have to stay in the cart,” he barked, too loud. He was so close. He snatched up a box of granola bars from the cart and tore it open. “Here, have a snack.” He thrust the wrapped granola bar into her hands.

“Open it, Daddy!” she wailed.

“Yes, dear,” he mumbled. He looked desperately up and down the aisle. No one yet, he thought, relieved. He ripped open the granola bar and handed it to Chloe. He scanned the dolls, all neat, tidy, and looking at him with their loving eyes. He pulled out his phone and snapped a photo, trying to keep his hands from shaking. He smiled at the photo.

“Which one do you want, Chloe?”

My submission, including the third definition of manipulate: to change by artful or unfair means in order to serve one’s purpose: to doctor, for this week’s Trifecta challenge.

The first time I saw you I knew we would be friends. You stood on the street in those old jeans and a gray shirt with a smirk and a glint in your eye. “Come here,” you said.

33 one-syllable words for this week’s Trifextra.

 

“She’s here,” Mikelo announced, sounding surprised. He made a three-quarter turn and swirled his cloak around himself. “I can feel her.” He held up his hand as if to demonstrate it. How often had he conjured up characters? Why shouldn’t one of them finally become real?

No one seemed to notice his excitement. They shuffled nearer and nearer to the priestesses, anxious to offer their responses to today’s question. They each could only imagine their own beginnings and endings. The poor limited beings, Mikelo thought. Nevertheless, he could feel her here, his girl-now-woman, new to this world, fresh from death. His story had given her new life, he knew it. Now he would find her, he alone could be her companion.

“Look for her,” he called, striding through the gradually shrinking mass of creatures. “A young woman alone and searching. She’s new here.” He got nods and murmurs in response but no shouts of recognition. “I need to help her,” he said.

Mikelo was much older than he looked; he was nearly 300 years old the last time he had consulted. Time had trained him to be patient. Yet here he found himself, his heart suddenly racing as he hunted for little more than a phantasm, dead certain that he and she had work to do together.

My contribution to Trifecta this week, including the third definition of the word companion: one that is closely connected to something similar. Like this? Read the rest of the story!