by ST
“March right upstairs and take care of it!”
Not a word came in reply, but the stomping tromp up the stairs was beyond the din of any troop wearing military issue footwear.
“I don’t know why I have to . . . ,” mumble was broken off when “the command-er” demanded, “What did you say?!”
“Nothin’.”
The crash of projectiles bombarding the wall of the room brought swift reaction from the superior’s force.
“What do you think you are doing?” blasted into the room.
“Nothin.”
“Well, ‘Nothin’ sounds like a war operation, and it had better be declared a ‘No Fly Zone’ immediately,” came the stern retaliation.
Tears started leaking out of clenched eyelids. A white T-shirt quickly tried to camouflage the traitorous outflow, but then a sob snuck through the failing bulwarks: the sound stealthily slipping into enemy detection.
A gentler negotiating voice proposed, “Truce?”
“Truce,” came the muffled response, and then an assuaging embrace melted both hardline combatants.
My Stories 