“Eat your rice pudding, young man!”
“I don’ wanna!”
“Eat it all up, or you won’t get any ninja turtles!”
“But Mooooooooooom…”
“I’ll tell the store to never let you have a Donatello ever!”
That did it. Little Billy ate rice pudding every day for the rest of his life.
“Sleep. Don’t cry. There is nothing you can do.
“They are gone, never to return. We cannot bring them back, and I am sorry, but you must live with that.”
That’s what she said, but today they died, and I will cry with the rain.
Today I am an orphan.
Matthew Trotter is 21 and lives where the wind carries him. He enjoys writing to pass time and reads as much as he can.
“Ha!” scoffed Mr. Yugin. “My powers are at least three times greater than your own. Your most powerful attacks are as nothing to me!”
“Oh really? But you haven’t seen my most powerful attack yet!” said Guko with a grin.
“Whaaat!?!?” cried Mr. Yugin.
Guko raised his spirit-laser super sword.
Was it left first, and then right, or was it right first? Hmm. Let’s try left first. Lift; swing forward; now what? Heel or toe? How was this thing supposed to bend?
No matter how much he practiced walking, Sully couldn’t help but feel that he was doing it wrong.
This story is based on a title suggested by @davefp.
It didn’t take long for Mr. McFitzwilliamson to prove that swimming in a pool full of coins didn’t work. A pool of twenty-dollar bills left him covered in paper cuts.
So he melted down all of his loonies and swam in that.
He’d never really understood the laws of thermodynamics.
This story was based on a title provided by @Vigafray.
He’d purchased the seventy-five foot yacht on a whim. With a fortune like his, such a toy was a trifle.
The first time he took it out, he “accidentally” ran over three sailboats and threw some lawyers overboard to handle it.
Bartholomew Regis Alberto Tanardier never thought about his initials.
@Charles_Mor told me to write a story about boats, so I did.
She was charming, witty, intelligent, and beautiful. I had to ask her out.
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t do that.”
“Ah. Boyfriend?”
“It’s not that. I’m an NPC. I’m not programmed to move from this spot.”
I paused, stunned. “Oh. That’s terrible.”
She nodded slowly. “I really have to pee.”
Soon to be a student of culinary arts and therefore thrilled that he can call himself an “art student” and act pretentious on a technicality, Bruce Rytel’s hobbies include writing, gaming, and going by a pseudonym. You can read some of his other works of microfiction at The Brevity Cannon.
Editor’s note: An NPC, or non-player character, is a computer-controlled character in a video game.
It was a dark and stormy night.
Good thing I’d brought my flashlight and umbrella. Man do I hate being wet. It’s pretty much the worst. I’d rather be sunburned a hundred times than have to go slogging through the rain. At least it’s warm.
Nothing interesting happened that night.
It’s, like, a character study or something. The fact that this story has no plot makes it super artistic. Trust me. Besides, look at that title. You just know something like that is packed with meaning.
“Why aren’t the llamas spitting?” pouted Rosie.
“Well they don’t spit all the time, honey,” explained Dad.
“But I wanna see ’em spit!”
“Sorry, dear,” said Dad. “Maybe next time.”
But the damage was done. It would take little Rosie twenty-three years to overcome today’s shattering of her expectoration expectations.
This story was based on a suggestion from @MisterFiendZero, who sent in the title as a story prompt via Twitter.
“Watch closely, folks! I’m about to make this volunteer completely disappear!”
It happened with a flash and a bang. The volunteer was nowhere to be seen.
After the show, the magician found the volunteer under the stage. As planned, the fireworks had perfectly disguised the gunshot.
This never got old.
This story was based on a suggestion from @danzama.