Day 280 – A Day Full Of Fun – Short Story

The day was not hot, the day was not cold, when down the hill, Laney Bean rolled.

with a giggle and a gaggle, a laugh and a cackle, she came to a stop, at the bottom did she flop.

Then Stella the dog, tumbled down after, attacking her feet, to fits of laughter.

And that’s how they played, for the rest of the day, laughing, and screaming, chasing and racing, throwing their cares away.

And when it came time, for the sun to fall from the sky, and the moon to rise way up high.

They laid in the silence, Laney and her dog, until it was broken, by the croak of a FROG.

Stella LEAPT to her feet, Laney did too, and off they ran, towards the croaking, that seemed to be coming from Mum’s watering can.

A few steps away, and the croaking did stop, then out from the can, a large frog did hop.

They sat there in silence, Laney and her dog, staring quite curiously, at the large green frog.

Then, it let out a cry, that made Laney shudder, as another frog appeared, then another, and ANOTHER.

Soon they were surrounded by a HUNDRED or more, when Melvin the cat appeared with a ROAR.

The frogs jumped left, the frogs jumped right, the frogs jumped any which way, trying to get out of sight.

But they were no match for Melvin, who chased them away, into the darkness, like a tiger hunting it’s prey.

And the frogs never came back, after that day, when Melvin the cat, had wanted to play.

When Laney and Stella had, had all that fun, playing outside, in the warm, winters sun.

Published by

Matthew Tonks

People are surprised when reading Matthew’s stories that he’s a sane forty something year old, happily married, father of one, employed full time and dream of dark disturbing things that any sane person would never even contemplate thinking of. But it's true, he’s toyed with writing for most of his adult life, but has always found the peg a writer must fit into is not the shape he wished to be. His writing can be described as lamenting, long, concussive (yes it smashes you in the head), compulsive, and stuffed with rhythmic communication and violence, let’s not forget the violence. His own opinion on his writing is this, “You see, I don't just want the words to seep into your mind, but into your soul, showing you images of blood and beauty through, volatile language, violence, sex, love and sin. My muse takes different shapes, and every now and then you can see her shining her wicked smile in some of my stories, tempting you with her promises, but ripping your heart out instead.” So have a look, and take a seat in my wayward ride, as you join me while I purge through, this twisted road of madness.

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