Eve had been pretending to drown for almost a whole minute when Adam finally noticed. She admired his muscular body as he dived into the water.
He was at her side in a heart-flushed moment. As he pulled her to the bank, she whispered into his ear. “You’re mine now.”
Mark Farley is attempting to write 1,000,000 words in 2016. Please wish him luck! See more from him at mumbletoes.blogspot.co.uk.
The story of the week for April 4 to 8 is…
Terror by Viv Burgess
This is great use of a twist for artistry rather than comedic or shock effect. The metaphor of the stage as torture is really interesting!
Silence. Except for the dripping. So this is what it’s like to die, he thought. He moved slightly, and the knife grated against his ribs. If only he’d put the garbage out when she’d asked him the first time, or the second, or the third…
Drip drip.
Silence.
Jackie has written three (unpublished) novels, and is also a mosaic artist and tutor, when she’s not working at her “proper” job at a training agency.
Hank was a successful plumber, but dreamed of fronting a band. He sang whilst fixing the shower, filling the bathroom with renditions of the 60s classics he heard on his father’s records.
His work complete, he belted out the last note, turned the stopcock, and listened to the shower cheer.
Guy once started a band with a stranger, at 2am, in the frozen food section of his local 24-hour Tesco. It frustrates him that he can’t seem to pull a story from it. This is his tenth 50-word story.
The girl fell, once. Gingerly, her father picked her up. He kissed her wound. “Roses bleed, too,” he said, drying the tears from her face.
She looked up to him, beautiful, bright-eyed, and unknowing of the secrets behind his eyes. Because given time, even roses grow dull and wither away.
Joaquim Chichava is unbearably quirky, and has grown to love wearing shorts.
A Russian man went to the doctor for an eye exam. He visited the doctor every year.
The doctor showed him the letters and numbers on the board: cwxy2 klta2ky.
Doctor: “Can you read the board?”
Russian Man: “What? Read? I don’t even know the guy. He’s my mom’s cousin.”
Dora Cseperkalo is a 15-year-old Hungarian student who enjoys studying English.
You didn’t see
the last selfie I posted,
bitter wind whipping my hair across my face
as I balanced on the narrow edge of the roof,
because you were too busy
updating your status
for the seventieth time that week
and waiting for the likes and comments
to pour in
Joanne R. Fritz writes poetry and fiction for both children and adults. This is her seventh Fifty Word Story. Unlike her young protagonist, Joanne doesn’t believe in taking selfies.
Every year, since the time I was three, I asked my parents for a pony on my birthday. Every year they would smile and say, “We’ll see.” I knew what that meant in parent-speak: “NO!”
Last week they were killed in a car accident. They left me a pony farm.
Candace always wished for a pony. Some wishes are better left ungranted. You don’t usually have to clean up after a story.
Laserhearth was very hungry. His kitchen was clean, but he didn’t know how to cook.
Five minutes later, the kitchen was very dirty because Laserhearth couldn’t find the salt. Angry, he burned up the kitchen and the food with his superpowers. Laserhearth didn’t eat anything.
Later, Laserhearth died of hunger.
Rubén is 10 years old and is learning English. The editor only helped a little bit!
He stands petrified and nauseous in an arc of blistering light.
The cold clutch of fear steals his breath as beyond, in darkness, the watchers wait expectantly for him to deliver all he knows.
Jolted, he surrenders. Words pour forth, unstoppable.
Then silence, tension, and the crack of thunderous applause.
Viv is still in Somerset and in state of shock that her story got chosen last month. Flushed with success and a bottle of plonk, she has had another go.