Melinda was a contrarian: she even became a tomboy just to prove the midwife wrong.
She was an anti-Earth activist, campaigning against her parents’ environmental research. Her slogan was “Green thumb; grass knuckles.”
They told her punching the ground didn’t actually hurt Mother Nature, which made her hit it harder.
This story is based on a title suggested by @KingKool.
Kevin, like most men, tended to measure himself by his accomplishments. That was why he worked so hard to get his picture up on the wall at Mister Meatmouth’s Restaurant.
“I ate it all,” he told his friends, “in one sitting.” They respected him for that.
Inexplicably, most women didn’t.
This story is based on a title suggested by @KittyCatalyst.
One day Bruce Wayne brought Dick Grayson to the Gotham City Zoo.
While they were there, they got caught up in, and foiled, a mobster’s nefarious mammal-smuggling scheme.
“This city is full of animals,” said Batman.
It was that kind of writing that threatened to kill the comic book industry.
This story is based on a title suggested by @Wear_Wolf.
Why’d you do it?
I didn’t do it!
Three people say they saw you do it.
They lied! All four of them!
Three.
Oh, yeah, three.
You confessed to the arresting officer that you did it.
All cops are liars.
Suppose you could do it again. Would you?
Well, sure.
Richard Pannbacker is a retired biochemist/teacher/sheepfarmer living in Manhattan, Kansas. He is the winner of the 22nd Annual “Kansas Voices” fiction contest and has had stories accepted by Fifty-Word Stories, The Bad Futurist, Daily Flash: 2012, Subtle Fiction, Writers Amuse Me and The Right-Eyed Deer.
Milt wasn’t wearing any pants.
“Hey,” said a guy walking by. “Why aren’t you wearing any pants?”
“Didn’t you know?” Milt said. “It’s no-pants o’clock!”
The guy scrunched up his face. “Is that some kind of joke?” he said.
“Nope!” said Milt.
So the guy took his pants off, too.
President Papi Kinsley rocked his wife, whispering, “You’re safe now.”
When she was asleep, Papi went downstairs. Zombie bodies were everywhere. He called Lord Zombino.
“I guess you didn’t know I’m a member of EZKIL, otherwise known as the Elite Zombie Killing International League,” Papi said. “Better luck next time.”
Nancy A. Cavanaugh is a freelance writer living in Keene, NH. You can read her flash and micro fiction at myflashywords.blogspot.com.
With waxy wings buzzing, and multifaceted eyes glowing maliciously, the fruit flies attacked.
In mere seconds, the unsuspecting picnickers were covered with a two-inch-deep blanket of angry, but harmless insects.
“We have them!” buzzed Franklin Fruit Fly. “What do we do now?”
And the swarm realized it had no follow-through.
This story is based on a title suggested by Nancy Cavanaugh via Facebook.
He didn’t know it worked: one night he’d simply pointed at the sky, and a star had appeared, bright and new.
It was a great party trick, of course, and it stimulated his inner artist, but he didn’t fully harness the potential of his god-like ability until he went commercial.
Ramone had a very diverse selection of friends. He enjoyed spending time with Havarti, Provolone, Mozzarella, and Brie.
He didn’t get along that well with Cheddar or Feta, but Gouda was fun.
Ramone’s mom told him, “Cheeses can’t be real friends,” but he knew better.
Oh yes, he knew better.
I asked Mom once why I had an uncle but no aunt. I figured they were a bundle deal.
Mom said, “Your uncle has three defining characteristics: veiny biceps, chest hair, and a fanny pack full of beef jerky.”
I still don’t know which of those is the bad thing.