“When they open up that door, you’re gonna whop ’em on the knees with your shovel, okay, son?”
Little Harley nodded his freckled nose and gripped his shovel as tight as he could.
Jim leveled his shotgun. Wasn’t every year you got to do the surprising on your own birthday.
This story was based on the prompt “when they come” at TypeTrigger.
Tim set out one day to write the most compelling fifty word story he’d ever composed. He spent months crafting the story, until at last he felt he had perfected it . It was only as he began to write it down that he realised the introduction was one word too
Keab42 wanted to write something awesome here, but sadly his imagination abandoned him.
Like clockwork, he’d get up at 6:00 AM and get ready for work.
Immediately, the maid who knew her secret scurried into the room to help her choose her costume for the day. Then she, too, went to work.
Imagine their surprise when their eyes met: a client, and a provider.
Tanja lives in Malta, Europe, with her husband and three children. She freelances for print and online media in Maltese and English.
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.
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.
“Grumble mumble.”
“Pardon me?” said Ms. Jane.
“Mumble grumble.”
“Do speak up, dear,” said Ms. Jane.
“Grr rumble mumbly.”
“Really, it’s very rude to mumble like that,” said Ms. Jane. “You’ve been raised to know better!”
But Ms. Jane’s stomach, it turned out, was a very poor student of etiquette.
“What are you up to?” muttered Wendel, eyes narrowed.
None of the fifty-seven fuzzy orange caterpillars inching across his driveway offered an explanation.
“I don’t trust you,” said Wendel. Then he stomped one, for emphasis.
Deep underground, the Caterpillar Council murmured grimly. Casualties had always been inevitable in this war.
Gavin loved Bernie. He’d watched him from birth to death. He was a piece of his mind, an original creation.
He wept when the fifty words ended because he knew none could ever know Bernie properly. Or his Sinophobia. Not in fifty or fifty thousand words.
“What now?” Bernie asked.
Editor: Gavin was late including a bio, but he has an awesome name, in my opinion. And I doubt he’s sinophobic.
Added later: Gavin is a full time student who writes fiction in his free time. One day he hopes to write full time as he fears real work.
I know this guy who saves puppies. He hears the world’s gonna end. He doesn’t believe it, he’s not religious, but he wants it to be true. When it doesn’t happen, he’s depressed.
So was I. I was depressed because the guy who saves puppies wants the world to end.
Walter Campbell lives and works in Philadelphia, went to school in New England, and grew up in LA, but he’ll write pretty much anywhere. Recently, his work has been published in Jersey Devil, Six Sentences, Dogzplot, MicroHorror, Toasted Cheese, and Glossolalia.
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.