It was a Thursday.
On Thursdays, Prysanthemum the Pug went to the baths from two to four o’clock. That made for prime adventuring time for his Doghouse, Dot. Glory, honour, excitement, fortune, and renown lay just over the horizon!
But first, Dot had to overcome one minor obstacle: voluntary movement.
Once upon a time, the beautiful princess journeyed to the Moon.
It was cold there. Not even the Moon Badgers were warm.
Even after the princess skinned three Moon Badgers and made a coat, she was still cold. So she set her spaceship on fire, and everyone was warm together.
Kittens! Kittens everywhere!
It was terrifying. Mortifying. A nightmare.
She stifled a scream. Then she stifled a yawn.
The warm, cuddly kitten bodies, like a soft, purring blanket, lulled her, despite her best efforts, off to sleep. And as she slept, she dreamed about the tigers that ate her mom.
It was comfortable in his bed, so he decided to stay there.
It was still comfortable the next day, because it was so soft.
It was still comfortable the next week, because it was so warm.
It was still comfortable the next month, because he couldn’t feel anything at all.
Crankfurt the Crocodile was a very good wallower. Sometimes he wallowed in the mud. Sometimes he wallowed in the swamp. Sometimes he even wallowed in the dust.
At the Mammal Wallowing Championships, Crankfurt was disqualified because of his decidedly non-mammalian crocodility. That was where he learned to wallow in despair.
Johnny blamed the milkman.
“Why would the milkman steal the last jug of milk out of our fridge?” said mom. “He has so much of his own in his truck!”
“He’s greedy. He wants it all for himself.”
“Honey, that’s–”
“GIVE ME ALL YOUR MILK!!” cried the Malevolent Milkman. “NOW!!”
A reader sent me this, and I thought it was too clever not to share. Thanks, Hugh3s!
Hi Tim,
I found your site, “Fifty Word Stories,” and found it interesting. With a few weeks of no updates, I was depressed to find that you were on hiatus.
So I decided to write a fifty-word story instead. I sat down at my computer and came up with nothing…
In case you don’t know what I found so great about it, count the words (as if you should have to do that with anything on this site).
Fleeing my prison, driven by the hunger, I found my victim. I struck. His blood flowed. The hunger was satiated, but then: panic.
The body was stuck on my tusks, and my flippers were too short to remove it.
The zookeepers apprehended me, ending the reign of Chumley, Vampire Walrus.
Josh Anderson is an amateur filmmaker and writer from Lubbock, Texas.
He won the gold medal with his eyes closed.
He’d never been much good at anything in his life, but the first time he found himself sliding down the icy, open-faced track he knew he’d found his place.
Speed. Freedom. Exhilaration. Bliss.
He was the Naked Sledless Luge Olympic Champion.
“Have you seen my wallet?”
“No, honey, and stop trying to change the subject. Just tell me… Does this dress make me look fat?”
“I would never tell you a dress made you look fat. You’re beautiful.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet.”
“The other dress makes you look very trim, though.”