“We’re at apogee in five, four, three, two, one.”
The booster fired, then the engines; a sustained burn using half the remaining fuel.
“Systems are one niner zero and holding.”
Ahead, the gas giant started to swallow its moon, soon to be left behind again.
“Roger, and… Wait! What is…”
Stuart Turnbull is a feckless no-gooder with a tendency to fantasize. He mainly cares for the house, and occasionally writes a story or two.
“Captain Jon was the meanest captain on the sea. He forced the sailors who disobeyed him to walk the…”
“Are you telling the girls about scary pirates again?” interrupted mother. “I don’t want you to give them bad dreams.”
“…To walk the time out deck until they cooperated,” continued father.
Abby W. is a member of Todd Battaglia’s Grade 7 Language Arts class.
This story is a finalist for the Audience Choice Award and the Grand Prize.
When the drunken, raging pirate burst into the peaceful bed-and-breakfast, the patrons fled their meals for safety.
The inkeeper, however, knew that customer service comes first. Even pirates need a place to stay, and money is money.
He managed to say, “Greetings! How may—” before the cutlass took his head.
Brandon King is a volunteer for Leading Edge Magazine, an awesome sci-fi/fantasy publication that will publish and/or edit your short stories, poems, or artwork.
This story is a finalist for the Audience Choice Award and the Grand Prize.
Captain Whiskers the ruthless kitty pirate had slit many throats to get this treasure. The first mate hammered the lock open and pushed the lid off the chest. He poured out the gold and jewels within, but Captain Whiskers didn’t seem interested, instead playing with the box it came in.
King Kool has previously contributed many stories to 50WS.
This story is a finalist for the Audience Choice Award and the Grand Prize.
The pirates broke into cheers as the monster finally collapsed.
They had been waiting a long time for this moment. With the leviathan defeated all of its fabled riches would be theirs.
However, with much dismay the pirates realized that the legendary goldfish was not, in fact, made of gold.
Cameron Boyce is a high school student. He enjoys puns and wordplay though he hasn’t written any stories before.
This story is a finalist for the Audience Choice Award and the Grand Prize.
“Blackbeard’s mighty quiet this evening. How’d he lose his voice?”
“He ignored my advice. I told him to record a homemade CD and put the pertinent track on a loop, but he had to do it the old-fashioned way.”
“Do what?”
“Teach his new parrot to squawk like a pirate.”
John H. Dromey has had flash fiction published in a number of print anthologies, as well as online at Liquid Imagination, three minute plastic, Thrillers, Killers ’n’ Chillers, and elsewhere.
This story is a finalist for the Audience Choice Award and the Grand Prize.
“I have found it absolutely essential when finding the areas, diameters, arcs and circumferences of circles,” stated Josh.
“With this in mind, I would like to give 3.14 a score of 9 out of 10.”
Everyone looked at him blankly.
“What?” he asked. “You said it was Pi rate week!”
Marc Brine writes 50 word stories because it’s fun. You can find his stories at in50words-marc.blogspot.com
Peggy…
She was the only thing that kept me grounded. She was me only source of stability. One of a kind, she was. A beaut. Without her, I wouldn’t have me sea legs.
Aye, I’ll never find a peg leg like her again. Guess I gotta go shopping for another.
Brandon King is a volunteer for Leading Edge Magazine, an awesome sci-fi/fantasy publication that will publish and/or edit your short stories, poems, or artwork.
The rough seas thrashed against the side of the boat. The sky filled with ominous grey clouds.
Men scurried across the deck of the ship. All were dripping and soaked from the monstrous sea forcing itself on board the vessel.
The captain called out, “Cannons at the ready!”
BOOM! BOOM!
Cameron Brown is a student at Holden Lane High in Stoke-on-Trent, England.
“When I grow up, I want to be a pirate!” the young boy said, beaming up at me just before we boarded the ship.
I smiled as I bent down to straighten his clothes.
“You already are, kid,” I replied, hiding another flintlock under his bulky coat. “You already are.”
Cole Grinnell is letting his work speak for itself.