Ellie wriggled her toes, grinning with grim satisfaction as the joints cracked. She looked down at the delicate, elfin girl nestled underneath the covers beside her.
“Morning,” her husband whispered as he entered the room. “Is she still asleep?”
Ellie nodded, beaming, gently stroking the girl’s sun-dappled cheek. “My baby.”
Vikkie the Mimm originally submitted this story as an entry in the Mere 50 Words contest.
Maurice accidentally sautéed his beloved pet snail. As it fried, it moved in the pan in a strange, almost rythmic pattern.
On the gravestone in the backyard, Maurice wrote, “He was slow to make friends until he started coming out of his shell, but sadly his hopes were ultimately crushed…”
This story was assembled using pieces sent to me via Twitter from @MoosePhysh, @gameking128, and @piers_hollott.
“How was your economics class?”
“I gave a cute guy my phone number.”
“…Oh. Did you learn anything?”
“I learned where he’ll be tonight around sevenish.”
“Did you learn anything economic?”
“I learned that I can make him pay for my coffee.”
I sigh. “You’re a hero, Margaret. A real world-killer.”
“Caw,” said the crow, turning its blind eye towards her. She always fell for it. What would today’s treat be? The big knife meant cooking day. That meant meat scraps or fish-guts or chicken skin. It hopped greedily to her outstretched hand.
She stroked it. It was finally fat enough.
Today’s story was originally submitted by Lenny as an entry in the Mere 50 Words contest.
The kids crawled all over the playground.
“Who’s It?”
“Jimmy is!”
“The ground’s lava! If you touch it, you’re It!”
Tamara thought being It might be fun. So she went to one of the ladders, took a deep breath, and hopped down…
Lava burns. A lot. But she died painlessly.
“Oh man… You got owned! And he took your girlfriend, too! What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to become a recluse for two years and teach myself advanced martial arts so I can rescue her and be a hero!”
“That’s dumb.”
“…True. I’ll just find a new girlfriend.”
It was time to take off the training wheels…
Literally.
Dad tossed the screwdriver up and down. “You’re sure you’re ready for this?” he grunted.
Terrence crossed his arms, frowned, and nodded emphatically.
Later, in the hospital, Terrence held his dad’s hand.
“Be tough,” said Terrence. “They can fix you.”
He could lift a truck off the ground with nothing but two fingers and a crane.
He could fly short distances by kicking his legs and holding his breath.
He could breathe through his nose and his mouth at the same time.
He was my best friend, and I hated him.
When Grace asked me out I was already in the limousine pouring gin, feeling her fingers on my cheek. That blood-red dress—like she was poured into it and some splashed on my skin.
Later I saw her kissing Alex. People said she played games. I thought it was love.
This story earned an Honourable Mention, with a $10 prize, in the Mere 50 Words contest.
When you’re in love, everything looks like a butterfly.
That was Barry’s experience, at least. He’d just met The One: she was beautiful and smart, and she had an amazing voice.
Unfortunately, Barry discovered, not everything was a butterfly, and blue jays like him can’t digest candy wrappers very well.