She stared at him in deisbelief.
“You lied to me? All this time?”
When he didn’t say a word in response she grew angry.
“Really?! Was there a kernel of truth to anything you said?”
Ano
She ran her tongue over her teeth, trying to dislodge the kernel inconspicuously. He glanced over at her and she attempted a smile, keeping her lips closed. Focus, Julie. fix the kernel. She wasn’t about to put her fingers in her mouth
The kernel has been eaten for breakfast, digested for the strength of the day and as popcorn flows with sugar or salt , it will make nothing out of a scarecrows thought.
Robert Kohlhammer
A kernel of corn. A kernel of truth. A kernel of the idea that this must have been a contrived writing exercise, rather than something that someone intended to write. Dead rats. Dead ends. Goth rats. Bad ends. Giving someone a story written on a piece of binder paper, because you don’t care for it and they do.
Jennifer
A kernel of popcorn, bouncing in the microwave, becoming dry, then roasted, then blackened and burned. Becoming smoke and ash. Reduced to its elements, what it began as in a cloud of space, it ends as.
Carver
His bony fingers played over the keyboard as if he had been typing for years. The kid next to him coughed loudly and stared at the Skeleton King. Apparently his typing a bit loud for the youngster. The Skeleton King showed the lad the fire in his eyes and the boy ran away. The Skeleton King got back to typing, but it was too late. The boy had initiated a kernel attack on his library PC deleting all of his latest blog post.
The popcorn buzzed around, each kernel bursting into something else. Something new, something incredible. One became a toy, a favored old one lost many years ago. One became a piece of candy, one filled with sticky caramel and chocolate.
I ate the last popcorn kernel in the bowl, even though it was crunchy and stale – I was just that hungry. Then I licked the bowl clean, and my cheeks and chin wound up coated in butter and salt. My mom didn’t like how messy I got, but hey, everyone had already devoured the Thanksgiving leftovers, so I had to scrounge for something, and my allowance wasn’t showing up until December 1st. So I washed both my face and the dishes and resolved to snatch a twenty out of my mom’s purse for a burger later.
Belinda Roddie
“Why?” I asked. My voice was flat with a disappointed lilt.
“Don’t you know the dangers of putting too many popcorn kernels in the microwave? Mark, I thought you knew better!” I reprimanded, sparing a distraught glance for the ruined kitchen.
She stared at him in deisbelief.
“You lied to me? All this time?”
When he didn’t say a word in response she grew angry.
“Really?! Was there a kernel of truth to anything you said?”
She ran her tongue over her teeth, trying to dislodge the kernel inconspicuously. He glanced over at her and she attempted a smile, keeping her lips closed. Focus, Julie. fix the kernel. She wasn’t about to put her fingers in her mouth
The kernel has been eaten for breakfast, digested for the strength of the day and as popcorn flows with sugar or salt , it will make nothing out of a scarecrows thought.
A kernel of corn. A kernel of truth. A kernel of the idea that this must have been a contrived writing exercise, rather than something that someone intended to write. Dead rats. Dead ends. Goth rats. Bad ends. Giving someone a story written on a piece of binder paper, because you don’t care for it and they do.
A kernel of popcorn, bouncing in the microwave, becoming dry, then roasted, then blackened and burned. Becoming smoke and ash. Reduced to its elements, what it began as in a cloud of space, it ends as.
His bony fingers played over the keyboard as if he had been typing for years. The kid next to him coughed loudly and stared at the Skeleton King. Apparently his typing a bit loud for the youngster. The Skeleton King showed the lad the fire in his eyes and the boy ran away. The Skeleton King got back to typing, but it was too late. The boy had initiated a kernel attack on his library PC deleting all of his latest blog post.
The popcorn buzzed around, each kernel bursting into something else. Something new, something incredible. One became a toy, a favored old one lost many years ago. One became a piece of candy, one filled with sticky caramel and chocolate.
I ate the last popcorn kernel in the bowl, even though it was crunchy and stale – I was just that hungry. Then I licked the bowl clean, and my cheeks and chin wound up coated in butter and salt. My mom didn’t like how messy I got, but hey, everyone had already devoured the Thanksgiving leftovers, so I had to scrounge for something, and my allowance wasn’t showing up until December 1st. So I washed both my face and the dishes and resolved to snatch a twenty out of my mom’s purse for a burger later.
“Why?” I asked. My voice was flat with a disappointed lilt.
“Don’t you know the dangers of putting too many popcorn kernels in the microwave? Mark, I thought you knew better!” I reprimanded, sparing a distraught glance for the ruined kitchen.