• Sierra Kay

A Tale of Terror

Tale of Terror

We met on the hiking trail. Every day, his eyes pierced mine as we passed. Never smiling. Never blinking. On occasion, he would nod. His eyes were so magnetic that all I could do was stare back. Well, it wasn't only his eyes that were magnetic. Those long sleeve shirts did nothing to hide the peaks and valleys of the muscles that lie beneath. Trust me, that trail served his body well. And today, he finally asked me out.


In my mind, I would be meeting him at the door, fully dressed and stunning. In reality, I'm rushing around in a towel, scooping up papers, and throwing them in the closet. I left the front door unlocked and texted him to come in and have a seat. I retreated to my bedroom, where my cat, Bingo, sat on a bed telepathically transmitting his disapproval at all the commotion. Bingo really doesn't like commotion.


After months of living in leggings, I have pulled my three sets of jeans from my closet: the size I want to be, the size I think I am, and the size I'll "never be again."


Jeans from the first two sets are tossed carelessly on the floor. My heart pounds louder than a bass drum on a parade route as I slowly inch the left leg of the third set over my calf. Suddenly Bingo hisses, and my heart stops as we hear a soft tapping on my bedroom door.


What do you think happens next? Go to my Facebook page and write the ending. FB/authorsierrakay


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