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    Flight of Little Bird: A Storyteller's Collection: Vol. 1 Short Story
    Flight of Little Bird: A Storyteller's Collection: Vol. 1 Short Story
    Flight of Little Bird: A Storyteller's Collection: Vol. 1 Short Story
    Ebook94 pages1 hour

    Flight of Little Bird: A Storyteller's Collection: Vol. 1 Short Story

    By Stephanie Writt

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    About this ebook

    Flight of Little Bird
    Inspired by a Facebook post, Tara tries to jump-start out of her dead-end life with one night of social media brilliance. An idea that could bring joy and a feeling of self-worth to future generations. But Tara quickly realizes that one night and one idea, one voice, will not be enough. Filled with the shouts of billions, the world will not hear her unless Tara finds a way to bring all of those voices together.

    “Flight of Little Bird” can also be found in “Storyteller’s Collection: Volume 1 of 10 Stories from Your Favorite Genres.” Its complete short story list is:
    • Rebellion of the Princess of Argon
    • Once Every Year
    • Walk of Power
    • Twin Competition
    • Valley Girl Vampire to Save the World
    • A Future Song
    • Stranger That Saved Her
    • Contract Vampire
    • Unstoppable Force
    • Flight of Little Bird

    “The story [A Future Song]...left me feeling satisfied and touched.”
     – Charles de Lint

    The Storyteller's Collection Series
    Vibrant stories from all genres populate this eclectic series. Each story a complete telling that will take the reader, from beginning to end, on a character driven ride. Volume by volume, all packed with dozens of new characters. See, hear, feel and taste their journeys to places spicy and exotic. And to places as warm and familiar as home.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWayne Press
    Release dateFeb 20, 2017
    ISBN9781386560494
    Flight of Little Bird: A Storyteller's Collection: Vol. 1 Short Story

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      Book preview

      Flight of Little Bird - Stephanie Writt

      Flight of Little Bird

      Flight of Little Bird

      A Storyteller’s Collection: Volume 1 Short Story

      Stephanie Writt

      Wayne Press

      Contents

      Flight of Little Bird

      Read and be happy!

      Want to read more in this collection?

      Free Story: 1st in Geriatric Magic’s: The New York Collection

      Geriatric Magic

      Want to read more in this series?

      Free Story: 1st in Tony & Gage’s: The Junior Year Collection

      The Day Tony Earned Detention

      Want to read more in this series?

      Preview: Love & Jinx

      Part One

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Love & Jinx: Want to finish reading?

      Also by Stephanie Writt

      About the Author

      Flight of Little Bird

      Heartfelt music swelled and crackled from dumpster-scavenged computer speakers as Tara sucked the last bit of soy sauce off her chopsticks. Forcing the bite of barbeque pork fried rice past the lump in her throat, she watched the computer screen fade to black over the giganto tooth-gapped grin of a cute (of course) kid with a face that glowed like he’d just been handed the world (which he had). Tara growled at her susceptibleness to Facebook mush stories and slammed her chipped blue polish fingernail onto her keyboard. It was the fourth time she’d watched that video in as many days. But the damn kid’s goofy grin wouldn’t leave her alone.

      Suddenly, pop-up ads bombarded her screen, blinking in a mocking halo at her emotional weakness.

      Stupid, craptastic, canker rotten, filthy ad monkeys, Tara ranted, swirling her mouse in a futile attempt to clean her screen of the viral pop-up evil. One overly-aggressive jerk of her hand launched her dinner off her desk. The white box trailed a hail of greasy pork, fried rice, and bean sprouts as it bounced off the purple wall and landed upside down (of course) in a dust bunny warren behind her desk.

      It hadn’t been good fried rice. But it had been her fried rice. Her Friday night treat she used as a carrot to not spend extra money all week. Not that she had much. Just enough. Barely just enough.

      A slew of curses—the real tangy ones that lingered in the air like oily smoke—rose to Tara’s lips. She ducked underneath the desk, her tiny body easily fitting in the small space as she scavenged half a box of rice, letting the dust bunnies have the rest. Usually, she hated the small, worthless feeling of insignificance. But tonight she welcomed the tucked and cuddled feeling of being surrounded. Covered. Protected.

      Tara hugged her knees, stuck her nose between them, and watched her toes wiggle inside her socks. One blood red with a shooting star on her ankle. The other black and white stripes that ringed up her calf like a raccoon tail. She focused on her toes, wiggle-wiggle.

      But that smiling face, the gaping grin. That happy, proud strength…

      Her stomach roiled. Jealousy.

      The tears threatened.

      Why had she clicked on that damn video?

      She knew why. A sucker. Just like everyone else. A sucker for a good story. A happy story. A bright light of hope in a life lacking. In a self lacking.

      Tara launched herself out from under her desk. She would not get all weak and blubbery over a damn happy ending story. A ten-year-old boy who had worked hard, went for his dream, and just before he lost hope—would have lost himself—someone stepped in and told him he could do it. And the boy did. The boy didn’t give up. Didn’t settle.

      Didn’t live in a one bedroom leaky piece-a-crap located inside hell’s butt crack. Didn’t work at a soul-swallowing call center where she hated every second, but begged to work more hours whenever they cut her schedule. Didn’t want to be more, so much more, and had no idea how to do it.

      Back up and on her feet, Tara trudged to her frig tucked into her closet-sized kitchen. Door open, fried rice in, door closed. Tara’s hand lingered on the frig handle.

      Dirty fingerprints all over it. She should clean it.

      Tara didn’t move.

      Her brain spun and spun while trying to keep the boy’s happy grin at bay.

      Wanted to be so much more, but didn’t know how…

      Something itched and tickled in her thoughts, an idea almost formed. The fragmented bits swam between her ears. She waited—patient, tense, frozen—for the delicate pieces to come together. The idea to change her life, to give her purpose. Almost there…almost…

      A car horn blared from the street below, and a rowdy patron of the restaurant downstairs answered with a belligerent string of words that made little sense.

      The sounds blasted the idea pieces from Tara’s mind.

      Her hand dropped from the frig handle.

      Damnit.

      Hey, old man, Tara grumbled at her right hand cube wall as she swung her backpack under the desk. She let go just in time to smack the bottom of her front cube wall, her morning greeting to her other cube mate. A mountain of red curls, shiny with hairspray, rose over the cube wall in front of Tara as she booted up her snail-slow computer and the TV set they called a monitor that took up half her desk. Tara blew a giant, sugary, watermelon bubble gum bubble at the tarantula eyelashes that pulled two bright blue eyes over the cube wall to glare back at her.

      Tara, the red-haired spider mountain said in a flat voice that threatened to sneer at any second.

      Ms. Betsy. Tara gave the exact same back.

      She hoped, prayed even (not sure to who, whoever was available, she guessed), that this once, after months of this ritual, Ms. Betsy would finally stop talking to her. To stop forgiving Tara for being who she was (annoying, young, obnoxious—Ms. Betsy’s list of her sad faults went on and on), and feeling the need, the compulsion, to ‘help’ Tara by telling her exactly who she should be.

      Tara let the fruity air seep from the popped gum bubble as it deflated to hang in a

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