Miss-Tress

Once in a while, a new problem comes to a head.

Being Princess

I married a princess. Not a proper princess, mind you. But living in London as a third generation Pakistani, it’s about as close as you can get. I honestly couldn’t tell you how I landed Shazia, my princess. She’s a posh bird with a successful businessman father, spoiled as heck. Has a huge closet full of clothes and shoes, all expensive stuff. Her father refers to her as ‘daddy’s little princess’. She could have had any rich, handsome, educated bloke she wanted. Instead, she chose me.

The first meeting.

I suppose I had better tell you how I got into this position. I am, at present, typing this on my computer keyboard and thinking that it was a good job I am able to touch-type. She is watching the television, yet another of the weepy chick movies she loves, along with game shows. I hate chick movies and game shows but she has to get her fill every day.

Strolling Along

Where there’s a will ….

You can never be sure how changes will happen …. but where there's a will, there may be a way.

Alex stared at the mirror, trying to size up his potential cosplay.

I think having my hair like this should work. And I think that plucking my eyebrows helped. I should probably watch some makeup tutorials though.

Life Imitates Art
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

My parents did not approve, but as I tried to explain to them, art is not what you want to do, it is what you have to do. They were right. It is not a job, it is a calling.

Back on the Right Path

On the way back to the farm I had Emilita sitting next to me. She asked me how I managed to have five days off in my first stint and I said I was just lucky, I guess. I did point out that every opening hour that I missed was paid for and she did have to concede the point. Celestina wanted to know about the lady with the black Skoda and I told them she was called Portia and owned a big security company and liked the way we had sex. That seemed to settle them. I knew the rest of it was so wild they would never believe me, even though it was true.

I took a deep breath as I peered out the window of my bedroom. Ribbons of pale moonlight streamed through the trees. The moon, high above the treeline was round and full, and glowed like a big fat silver coin. Watching the moonlight stream through the window panes of my room, kind of reminded me of that night. It was a full moon that night too. A sudden knock on the door brought me out of my musing. There in the doorway stood my mother, she was wrapped in her night coat and in her hand she held an old wooden tray that held two extra large mugs.

I started to cringe because I recognised the signs, Melissa was about to deliver the coup de grace.

Slight Detour. Part 2

Will I be … glamorous?

I’m more of a tank-type T, built big, built rough. Never likely to look neat, pretty, sweet, colourful, … and never going to be glamorous. And I hate this outward me. Will I ever be what I want? Would that I could be …. glamorous.

AP - bit close to the bone some of this. Hope it's worth putting up and reading?

The Scholarship
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Slight Detour. Part 1

At this she took out her phone and called Pavlina, asking if it would be all right for her to pay for my time up to close of business Thursday evening and they came to an arrangement, with a bulk discount. I was affronted – only a week on the shelves and I am already consigned to the discount bin! She then turned to me and explained what she wanted me to do.

Talk Show
Fictional Transcripts
By Maryanne Peters

Season 3 Episode 5

JT: Welcome everybody to another “Tonight with Tanner”. I am Joe Tanner. And tonight, we have the star of the new Show “Crossover” with us tonight. Please welcome TJ Albright.

APPLAUSE

JT: TJ, Welcome.

TJA: Thank you Joe. And thanks everybody. It’s good to be here.

JT: I have to say it but once again you are with us in full costume.

I can’t get dressed

I hate this bloody pandemic. I want to get dressed and I can’t. I daren’t. My flatmates might not like it.

Authors note : I haven’t posted for a while now. Back in Dec 2018, I finished my set of 500-word ‘starter stories’ and the only person who took one and added a sequel ….. was me! Then the writing monkey took a break and couldn’t give me any worthwhile stories. Recently, I re-read some of my own stories and got a bit interested again. There may be a few posts in the near future. AP

Tales of the monsters Rougarou have been passed down from one generation to the other. The Rougarou, is something of a werewolf type creature that is said to stalk the underbrush of Big Cypress Swamp, searching for its favorite prey, a careless hunter, trapper or fisherman. It's also said to prey on household pets when the picking is lean. It's said to favor cats more than dogs. Its also said to make the many hidden hollows and vales that dot the thickly covered area the locals call “Haunted Hollow” its home.

Shampoo
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I am still having problems with formatting images in a story, so here is another story on pdf

Rose the Bunny

Rosey Red gave me this idea. Make of it what you will.

His name wasn't Scrooge, but it might as well had been.

His actual name was Richard Rose, and throughout the small town he lived in, there was no one richer, but no one less kind or less generous.

And yet there was one person who wanted nothing more than to see his heart soften.

Her name was Penny, and every night she prayed for him, saying “Somebody must have hurt Mr. Rose, which is why he’s so mean. So God, heal his heart.”

Influenced
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

“Pernicious” is the word. The internet is pernicious. Pernicious and addictive.

What is an “influencer”? How can they trap people the way they do? It is pernicious.

I was just an ordinary guy. A shy person. I suppose one of the generation brought up with a screen before my eyes. Introverted you might say. Absorbed by the screen. Absorbed by the world wide web.

Authors Note:

This work is set in the early stages of the Coronavirus outbreak. It's a work of fiction and if it offends you I apologize in advance. When I saw the reports of young people in Florida still going to the beach something in me wanted to tell a story about someone clueless as to how pandemics work. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and have a wonderful day.

Public School
By Maryanne Peters

Attached as a file so that you can all appreciate the talent that is Ignatious Fluke, the creative force behind Tranzfiction Magazine.
I am looking forward to contributing more material to this gorgeous (free) publication.

When there was an announcement that Amy Amstel should come to the school secretary’s office urgently since there was a call waiting for her from her modelling agency my class-room exploded in laughter at the obvious joke someone had managed to pull. Everyone looked at the boy in the second row – me. My teacher is in on it and said:

- They must mean you, Andrew. Off you go.

I hated the fact that I looked like the young teenage girl model Amy Amstel. More precisely I hated the ribbing I got for looking like her. I could, just, accept that my fellow students joked about it but teachers?