When the new girl entered, my face was covered in slugs.
I’d done it to get Kayley’s attention, and she was suitably grossed out, but as soon as I saw the new girl, Kayley didn’t matter.
By then, unfortunately, it was too late.
I live alone, now, with my slugs.
I imagine this as the origin story for some tragic antihero…
Last night I went to bed early, which was a shame, really, because when I woke up (late), I found muddy dinosaur footprints all throughout the kitchen and dining room, and the big pot of soup in the fridge was empty.
I hope they come back again tonight. Chili’s on!
This story was based on the prompt “last night I” at TypeTrigger.
Georgiana shielded her face from the searing heat as she portioned out the molten silver. The cave echoed with the howls of wolf pups.
As sweat beaded on Georgiana’s forehead, she counted backwards aloud: “Nine… Eight… Seven…”
Not for the first time, she thought, There must be an easier way…
This story was based on a title suggested by @salmir.
What can I do with this hunger?
Feed it, when I must: satiate it, if I can, though it seems I’m never satisfied.
Ignore it, when I’m able, but it consumes me incessantly.
Surrender to it, when I can’t help but be overcome. Dance to it.
More Phil Collins, please.
This story is dedicated to Justin Boyd. It was based on the prompt “this hunger” at TypeTrigger.
You think you understand me? What a joke. No one understands me. No one even tries.
You write me off, dismiss me. You try to diagnose me, apply your useless labels.
Open your ears! Listen, for once. “Foogledy balpadons, hormeath!”
See? You’re making that distant, absent face again… Nobody understands.
This story was based on the prompt “understand me?” at TypeTrigger.
“You shall suffer my wrath, puny one!”
“Perhaps I shall, but you, too, shall suffer it, I think.”
“Indeed I won’t. My own wrathfulness amuses me.”
“Yet does it not also give you heartburn?”
“It has not done so before.”
“Nuts. What shall I do with all this Tums, then?”
“Once AGAIN, I remind you that NO ANIMALS are allowed in the classroom during an examination.”
Jeremy patted the enormous grizzly bear’s head. “Why not?”
“He might, er, help you cheat.”
“Barry would NEVER do that,” said Jeremy, surreptitiously hiding his exam paper, on which he’d written “Grrr, grroowl, roooaarr.”
This story was based on the prompt “once again” at TypeTrigger.
She invited me in after our third date.
What I found in her refrigerator was shocking. The shelves were packed with yogurt, cheese, sour cream, and, maybe worst of all, two cartons of chocolate milk!
“Betsy, what is this?” I cried. “Explain!”
She hung her head, sighed, and said, “Moo…”
“You have an ability that nobody else has. Don’t you think that’s at least a little bit awesome?”
“No, not really.”
“But your ability is so cool!”
“Really? Do you actually wish you could do what I can do?”
“…No. I guess not. But I’m glad you can do it!”
This is how I think most people would react to the special abilities people have in my web serial, Special People. It’s kind of like having a friend with an “awesome” moustache: it’s cool that they have it, but I’d never grow one like that myself.
This story was based on the prompt “nobody has” at TypeTrigger.
“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!”