“Stand away, American!”
“If my intentions were hostile,” growled the warrior, “your staff would not avail you, Wizard.”
“My kind must be careful,” said Sir McDonald. “In your land, I might wake up a slave.”
Abraham Lincoln gripped his sword. “That is why my country goes to war with itself.”
Historical fantasy is weird. But you should check out the Alvin Maker series by Orson Scott Card if you like that kind of thing.
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.
Mandy gasped in delight. “It’s like I always dreamed! But how did you…?”
Travis grinned. “Let’s just say I owe the zookeeper a very complicated favor! Care for a ride?”
Mandy blushed. “I’d love one.”
By sunset’s glow, he drove the duck-drawn carriage down the meandering path to her heart.
This story was based on a prompt from @awesomejeka.
The kayak rolled with the swelling of the ocean. Its lifeless occupant had stories to tell; the forensics officer in the nearby boat was certain of that.
An eruption of bubbles at the rear of the boat wasn’t a loud enough warning to prevent him from becoming the second victim.
This story was based on a prompt from @brucerytel.
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).
He had just suffered the most devastating defeat of his entire career, maybe even his entire life.
“That’s it,” he muttered. “I’m quitting. This is no good.”
An ethereal meerkat blinked into existence in front of him. “You can’t quit!” it said. “I’m a meerkat!”
“Why not?” he protested.
“Meeeeerkaaaat!”
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.