The following is another collection of short stories. Most were from writing prompts, like first sentence starters, or 3 random words. Some stories are bittersweet, some thrillers or mysteries, and some plain out tragic.

Enjoy!

Under normal circumstances he would speak his mind, but, with a gun against his head, he lacked the ability to speak up. In fact, he was scared shitless. All his bravado had fled him.

The bank seemed to be moving along, business as usual. Then everything went to hell in a hand-basket. Three armed men stormed in, disabled the cameras and alarms, and began their terror. They had already killed two people. A poor teller, and the bank manager.

Why wasn't he doing his job? He was a security guard after all. But no. He was a coward. They stripped him of his weapon, and now stood above him with a gun to his head, more than ready to make an example of him.

Poor Marie. She had two kids. Her husband was out of work. Now they had no one. And Randy. He was a pompous ass, but he didn't deserve to be shot in the back.

Now those bodies lie in the center of the bank lobby, bleeding away. Their deaths were pointless. They hadn't tried to be heroes. 

And here he was, on his knees. The gun pressed to his head.

Two of the bank robbers were gathering their loot, terrifying those customers and employees just to see the fear and the tears. Grown men softly crying like children. Whispered prayer to god hushed though the lobby.

What could he do? No gun. No plan. No balls. A gutless coward.

She was beginning to realize how far down in her memory she'd buried her teenage years. Abuse and neglect and some of the more mundane things of any teenager’s life at the time and stupid decisions were locked there.

The abuse was not sexual in nature. Though, there were some times when her whore of a mother’s boyfriend of the week would knock her around a bit. Hell, even her mother was fond at lashing out at her.

The neglect was more rampant, however. Back then, in her young formative years, her mother had left her alone for days, sometimes weeks. The girl was left to fend for herself, stealing and shoplifting for even the barest of essentials to sustain herself in the crappy run-down trailer at the edge of town. Half the time the water or electric was getting shut off.

If she had known her father, maybe she could have escaped that life. But her mother didn't even know who her father was.

Now, she has money. She has food. She has a nice home and nice things. Not an overabundance, but enough to be comfortable and happy. And she did it on her own.

Suddenly now, out of the blue, after leaving all those hurtful, shameful memories and years behind, here her mother calls. She needed help. It made all those memories resurface.

Turn away the woman who gave birth to you? Was that how to look at it?

Or turn away the woman who made your teenage years a living hell. Schoolmates picked on her. They knew her mother was a whore. They picked on her for her torn, shoddy and sometimes dirty clothing. When the water and power was cut off, she couldn't shower or bath. It was humiliating.

And the woman now wanted her help.

She just didn't know if she could do it. Her mother hadn't changed at all over time. Still a promiscuous woman. Still an alcoholic. Still hacking her lungs up from smoking too much. Still trailer park trash.

She listened to her mother on the phone go on about her woes. Her degrading health, her need for medication. Drugs and booze was more like it.

She made her decision. She spoke softly into the phone receiver. "I'll send you ten-thousand dollars. And never contact me ever again." She said. Her mother seemed more than delighted as she gave the address and such of the nearest Western Union Office.

And it was done.

This damaged young woman would never marry, never trust. And while she had all the comforts she didn't as a child and teen, she would be forever missing something so important. Love, a relationship, the prospect of children.

No, she'd never allow it.