Your face at the window said it all.
We got here as fast as we could. We stopped for lunch; we stopped too long.
I didn’t know depression could hit you so hard. The road was long, I stopped for a break.
Your face at the window said it all.
Marian lives in Scotland and loves it.
“Flip you for it,” he challenged.
“You’re on,” she assented.
“Heads,” he said.
“I’ll go tails.”
He did a twisting somersault-and-a-half, landing on his head.
She scoffed and triple-flipped backwards, coming to rest on her strong, poofy tail.
“You win,” he said. “Nice tail! Grow it yourself?”
“Nope. Plastic surgery.”
“My life is so mundane,” she complained.
“You’re right,” he agreed. “Maybe you need to spice things up a bit.”
“Yeah! I’m just missing that little ‘je ne sais caliente’!”
“A little ‘I don’t know hot’?”
“Yeah! Like a European boyfriend!”
“That almost makes sense,” he said. “But not quite.”
Critics and laymen shared exclamations of delight as they wandered in awe through the halls of Fallo’s gallery.
“The texture!” they said. “The movement! The tone! The pizzazz!”
Everyone wanted to know Fallo’s secret.
He told them, “My tools are my heart and my toothbrush,” and flashed a paint-stained smile.
Lily and Lile worked in the same library, and they had very different views on the topic of censorship.
“But don’t you think–” whispered Lily.
“Shh!” said Lile, shushing her.
“Shhhh!!” shushed Liza, one of their coworkers.
“Shhhhhh!!!” shushed Lily enthusiastically.
“SHH SHHHHHHHHH!!!” shushed their manager over the library-wide intercom.
This story was based on a prompt suggested by Nancy Cavanaugh via Facebook.
Ten minutes later, Jon was still staring into the open refrigerator.
“I thought you weren’t hungry,” Stephanie said.
“I’m not,” Jon replied, closing the door. “Ever wonder if it gets lonely?”
“The fridge?” she asked.
Jon nodded.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
The fridge tried not to cry.
Ryan Hall is a computer programming graduate student at the University at Buffalo in NY, hoping to go into game design. He started writing microfiction to deal with stress from programming projects.
It was like a real-world logic puzzle.
Bobby Blowfish should sit with Angela Angelfish, but he and Tommy Tuna don’t get along.
The Seahorse family should be near the dessert table, but keep them away from the punch bowl!
And no one wanted another “who let the orcas in” fiasco.
This story is based on a title suggested by @klancashire.
When Camille cried her crocodile tears and sang her songs of woe, it wasn’t really because she was lonely or sad. It was actually because she was a very dramatic crocodile, and she knew that great actresses could convey real emotion, so she was practicing.
That’s what she told herself.
This story is based on a title suggested by @Jesstrel.
Snavrin the garter snake shivered in the grass and dreamed of being warm-blooded. Life was cold!
That afternoon, a little boy and a little girl caught him. He was terrified!
The girl slipped a set of green pajamas over his neck. Now he was warm!
But he looked pretty silly.
This story is based on a title suggested by @StealingZen.
When he wanted to stay in bed, he imitated a cozy blanket.
When he wanted to keep playing outside, he made himself look like a tree.
When he didn’t want to eat his broccoli, he blended into his chair.
Dad was usually fooled, but Mom could see right through it.
This story was based on a title suggested by @Vigafray.