Herb barely beat the deadline. The completed report was faxed at exactly 11:59. When the fax machine displayed “successfully sent,” he took a deep breath and smiled for the first time in weeks. Unfortunately, he hadn’t noticed the sign taped to the front of the fax machine: PLACE FACE UP.
Bruce Harris is the author of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson: ABout Type, published by The Battered Silicon Dispatch Box.
The cowboy drank until he’d had enough, then topped off his flask for later.
When he turned to go, a couple mean-looking gents had gathered.
“Had enough?” said one.
“Got my fill.”
“Well at this lemonade stand most folks pay before they drink. Now give the little girl her quarter.”
This story was based on the prompt “had my fill” at TypeTrigger.
Petunia and all the other ponies were excited for the royal parade.
In the morning, they were each given a pork chop and a pea. They devoured their delicious pork chops, all except Petunia. “Pork makes me bloaty,” said Petunia, and ate her pea.
The Princess chose to ride Petunia.
This story is dedicated to Mr. Denoncour’s 7th Grade class, which also provided the title as inspiration.
I used my best line. I’d been saving it for a week, waiting for the right girl in the right bar.
“Are you wearing bird pants?”
She corked me one right in the nose.
It hurt like reading Dickens, but my friends laughed a lot, so it was worth it.
This story was based on the prompt “corked” at TypeTrigger.
Living amongst death and decay was simply part of being a necromancer, but Khin-Topekh hadn’t expected so much loneliness.
Employing his best problem-solving skills, the necromancer went to the pet store and picked out a puppy.
Little Fidus made him very happy, until she started stealing bones from his corpses.
This story is based on a title suggested by @Invariel.
“Hur hur, Frankie Boy! How many fingers am I holding up?”
Frank groaned. “Ronald, you’re a tortoise. You don’t have any fingers.”
“C’mon, Frankie Boy! Play along!”
“Fine. Zero.”
“Ya got me!” grinned Ronald.
The aquarium was blissfully peaceful for about ten seconds. Then:
“Hey, Frankie Boy, pull my finger!”
“Ooooooooh, shiny!” Mindy picked up the loonie and was instantly surrounded by every grubby-fingered toddler on the playground. “Back, you brats!” she shouted, holding it high. “It’s MINE!”
“I’ll take that,” snapped the kindergarten teacher, snatching the loonie.
“I’ll take that,” said the principal.
“I’ll take that,” said the government.
Venus came home to chaos.
“What is going on!?”
“Hi, honey!” said her husband, Chris, standing behind a hutch with their daughter on his shoulders. “Tina and I bought a few bunnies!”
“A ‘few‘?”
“Well, we took two, but by the time we got home there were a bunch more…”
This story is based on a title suggested by @TsukiakariUsagi.
“Are we there yet?”
“No,” Mary snapped. Two of the kids started crying.
Ben ignored them.
Mary groaned. “Why do we even go for these drives? We don’t like it. The kids don’t like it. Nobody likes it.”
“Fine.” Ben turned the car around.
Beneath them, the road sighed sadly.
This story is based on a title suggested by @THatherty2.
“Look, Pa! A dead rat!”
“Lemme see, Gerald,” said Pa. “Ah, it’s only a skellington and a bit of skin. Musta died a long time ago. Funny how nice he’s sittin’, like he went out calm and peaceful. Makes you wonder, kinda.”
Deep inside Ratankhamen’s corpse, a long-preserved soul-spark flared.
