1-Page Stories -- the last sentence in both contains a surprise twist

from www.storybytes.com

Banished to My Room

Ray Van Horn, Jr.

I did absolutely nothing wrong, yet here I lay, staring at the shadow of my swaying foot, pretend-kicking invisible invaders on the wall. Somebody is going to incur my wrath, even if it is an imaginary scapegoat. At least he, she or it can't fight back; that is about the only comfort I take right now. 

There is no television in my room, only a stereo with a handful of tapes to listen to. I am not allowed to play them, though. I have been commanded to lie here in subdued silence. For some reason I can't explain, it has been deemed that I am to be punished and confined to my bedroom. My friends are outside, and I know they are laughing and mocking me. They aren't locked up like a caged rat with nothing to do save for quietly reading the same crappy books over and over again. If it is punishment my overseers want, then they've succeeded. This solitude is more like torment. 

What did I do to deserve this? Scream out loud occasionally, use a little profanity that slaps expressions of shock on my benefactors? Big deal! Of course, if they would tend to my needs when I ask for them, I'd be content and as restrained as an altar boy. 

Oh, I'm selfish, you say? Spoiled, even? Try it in my shoes, friends, and tell me how you like being eighty-three and treated like a helpless infant!

The Big Blue Shirt

Lorraine Gregoire

She was not what anyone would call pretty. The face was sad, pixie-like. Blonde curly bits attempted scraggly escapes from beneath the beat up baseball cap. She sat, thin shoulders hunched like she was trying to hide the girlie parts beneath that big blue shirt. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I feared she would disappear into the caverns of the mega-mall where I had first begun to follow her. 

Now, perched across from her at the crowded coffee bar, I sipped my latte---peeking upwards and sideways though wary eyelashes so watching would not be obvious. Had she been warned about not speaking to strangers? Should I risk it? Would she make a scene? How much should I offer her? 

I caught the eye of a matron. She pursed her lips and gave me the squinty-eyed "I don't approve of you pervert types" glare. Then, the girl spoke first, " Mister, can I bum a smoke?" 

My chance. I had to be tactful. "Sure," I mumbled. "But first I have to ask you a question?" I breathed deeply. "That blue shirt you're wearing... did you, ah, get it at the Salvation Army?" 

Her eyes widened. The thin neck snapped back as if smacked by the poverty police. Before she could scream or run away I blurted, "It was mine, a favorite---won it bowling. See, my name, Chuck, on the sleeve. My wife, she accidentally donated it. I would really like to buy it back."