Gina’s tea tumbled onto the floor. “Oh no!” she cried, reaching for the paper towel.
“Wait!” said Patrick. “The last time you dropped your tea, the spill looked like a heart, and you met your boyfriend later that day. This time, it’s…”
“Just a puddle.”
And then the basement flooded.
This story is based on a title suggested by @KingKool.
“Whoa, stop right there, bud.”
“I BEG YOUR PARDON.”
“You’ve got to wait your turn. Adolescence and young adulthood only just passed by. Middle age is up next.”
“BUT THERE’S ROOM TO FIT MY BICYCLE IN RIGHT THERE.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but in the parade of life, Death rides last.”
This story is based on a title suggested by @GreatTrollKing.
“Do you want to hear the good news first, or the bad news?”
“Good, please.”
“Okay. God sent His Son to earth to save you–”
“Oh, the Good News? Thanks, I’m familiar. High five, Christian buddy! What’s the bad news?”
“I, uh, ‘lost’ that ugly sweater you gave me. Sorry.”
This story was based on the TypeTrigger prompt “the good news.”
The girl just could not dress for summer. Her entire bedroom knew. It’d seen the fustrated flinging of sundresses, the disappointed stares into mirrors and magazines.
Finally, one scorching morning, she found her usual glossy substituted for Scandinavian Housing Bimonthly.
She left an OxFam bag of ugly t-shirts and flew.
Jessica Croot is a 16 year old high school student currently in the process of obtaining qualifications and rapidly losing hope regarding her later life. When not writing stories consisting of precisely 50 words she enjoys writing brief biographies about herself (and reading).
“How did you do at the track meet, Johnny?” said Mom.
“I got one fourth and one second.”
“That’s wonderful, dear!”
Dad said, “Actually, he means he got a quarter of the way around the track, kept going for one more second, and then stopped.”
Johnny glared at Dad. “Spoilsport.”
This story was based on the TypeTrigger prompt “one fourth.”
It had been snowing for hours, days, weeks. I stood in the window, gazing out at my quiet suburban neighbourhood, a world set on Mute.
I could still hear his last breath inside my head, even from beneath the snow. By the time it melted, I’d be far, far away.
This story was based on the TypeTrigger prompt “on mute.”
There is great power in a word. Your task, apprentice, is to unlock it.
Begin by deeply internalizing its meaning. Then divide its syllables, and unravel them. Only when you have delved to the core of every phoneme will you be prepared to bend the word’s power to your will.
This story was based on the TypeTrigger prompt “in a word.”
My sister always used a stencil set and a dark pencil to trace her weekly schedule into a day planner. She said her plans seemed firmer that way, but not so rigid as if she’d used a pen. She knew disruptions were inevitable, but hoped the stencils might discourage them.
This story was based on the TypeTrigger prompt “stenciled in.”
Stepping off the train, Lee looked for his friends and family. He could see many mouths moving, but heard no words. Must be the adrenaline of being home, he thought.
He’d traveled by train before, but this journey had been different. He’d been uncomfortable the entire time.
His underpants had bunched.
Jamie Taylor (sometimes called GaProgMan for reasons that have been lost to the vastness of space, time, and everything in between) is a computer programmer with a penchant for things techy and Japanese (which is handy, because he can speak Japanese). Er, that is, things that are techy and things that are Japanese. He is also a programmer and bass guitar player. Check out his website and blog.
Just as I’m easing myself through a bank of lasers, the last security measure between me and my target, I’m jolted by the ear-splitting blare of a siren, followed by the chiming and gonging of bells and the braying of a chorus of sick donkeys.
I hate my alarm clock.
This story is based on a title suggested by Adam Michaud.