Captain Whiskers the kitty pirate had barely escaped her last adventure. She may have lost two of her nine lives, but she was resolute. This was why she was afforded the authority of her vessel, the Fuzzy Wave. As captain, she was relieved the crew couldn’t mock her Elizabethan collar.
King Kool has previously contributed many stories to 50WS.
Waiting in line, Fangtooth Redbeard stretched and his hook accidentally poked the plump woman next to him.
“Arrgh, me wench,” he said, “I beseech ye pardon.”
She tightly gripped her Tupperware container and frowned.
“Sir,” she said, “I’m afraid you’re in the wrong place. This is a Pie Rating contest.”
Chris Fries is a still-developing writer, working to hone his chops. He is an Engineer by vocation, a guitarist by avocation, and a writer by compulsion. His writing blog is StratPlayerCJF.blogspot.com.
“I was trying to figure out ways to Shanghai teetotalers, when I remembered scratching my head used to help me concentrate. Unfortunately, I forgot about this,” the pirate said, holding up his right arm.
And that’s how Captain Hook explained his bandaged head to the crew of the Jolly Roger.
John H. Dromey has had flash fiction published in a number of print anthologies, as well as online at Liquid Imagination, three minute plastic, Thrillers, Killers ’n’ Chillers, and elsewhere.
“I don’t know…”
I gritted my teeth. “Make up your mind! I can’t stand your waffling.”
“Both options look good!” she protested. “I hate being forced to choose…”
“Here,” I said, “I’ll choose for you.” I flung a waffle onto her plate.
“But,” she said, “maybe I want a pancake…”
This story is based on a title suggested by @PoshPlatypus.
“In today’s headlines,” said the news anchor on TV, “civil unrest rages on throughout the Middle East. Also, Hugh and Bob Mungus need to stop playing so much XBox and do their homework.”
“Huh?” said Hugh and Bob.
Mom grinned. She hadn’t told her sons about her new boyfriend yet.
This story was based on the TypeTrigger prompt, “in today’s headlines.”
“I’m sick of being single.”
“Yeah, me too. It’s totally lame. It’s hard to do anything about it though, you know?”
“Well, this is kind of counter-intuitive, but apparently if we don’t want to be single anymore, we have to split.”
“Worth a try. Anything’s better than staying single-celled forever.”
One after another, Meg ignored all of the warning signs that her blind date might be trouble: his deathly-pale complexion; the creaky door to his castle and the heavy drapes that kept the so-called solarium dark as a dungeon; his Transylvanian accent; the lobster bib with her picture on it…
John H. Dromey has had flash fiction published in a number of print anthologies, as well as online at Liquid Imagination, three minute plastic, Thrillers, Killers ’n’ Chillers, and elsewhere.
*click*
Oh no.
*click click*
It’s jammed! This is bad. REALLY BAD.
*click click click click*
What am I going to do?! Any second now he’s going to turn around and see me, and then…
*click click BANG*
Phew!
I thought I might get blamed for breaking his nail gun.
This story was based on the TypeTrigger prompt “faulty trigger”.
First their eyes danced, glancing and winking. Then their feet danced, carrying them in intersecting paths. Next came the dance of voices: introductions, banter, flirtation.
He anticipated the dance of lips: she replied with the dance of the open palm.
Nursing wounded pride and cheek, he retreated, his rhythm lost.
This story was based on a title suggested by @Wolfgang_Cloud.
You never know it’s coming until it arrives. You think you’re prepared, you think you’ve thought through all the contingencies, you think you’re a quick reactor, and then BAM, it hits you, and you find yourself crying to the Heavens, “Why me!?”
That unscratchable itch, just barely out of reach…
This story was based on the TypeTrigger prompt “you never know.”