Ficlets

Reinhardt was almost disappointed by the absence of torches and farm implements. The only people at the door were a motley group of five. They appeared to be in their twenties, and bore knapsacks, thick tomes, what appeared to be a sample case, and shopping bags that appeared to be full of beer, Mountain Dew, and Doritos.

“Hey!” the girl in front said. She was cute, but not pretty, wearing a faded t-shirt that claimed Reinhardt’s mother had been “pwn3d.” Reinhardt tried to decipher this code. Had his mother been taken to a shady businessman and used as collateral in a short-term loan without his knowing? He should call the rest home tomorrow morning. Then he suddenly noticed that the young lady was sans brassiere and probably thought he was staring at her breasts (which were nice, now that he was staring at them), and Reinhardt flushed and jerked his eyes up to the woman’s (her eyes were pretty, and this made it all worse).

She seemed oblivious, though. “So,” she said, “are you Lore’s roommate?”