I hear a noise in my kitchen and come down to find Brad Pitt guzzling chocolate milk straight from the carton. He says his motorcycle broke down en route to Missouri. Brad, if you left me without chocolate milk before breakfast on a school day, I will have your head.
Maura Yzmore’s day job involves quantum mechanics, dry-erase markers, making bad puns, and lots of technical writing. She lives with her family in the American Midwest, where she also writes, draws, and indulges her love for coffee, driving, and kickboxing. See more at maurayzmore.com
Jim was attending his first major league baseball game. From his upper level seat he could see them in the dugout: Mickey, Yogi, Whitey.
For a brief moment he was disappointed. They weren’t the mythical electronic figures that had filled his television screen. They were just men in baseball uniforms.
Michael J. Moran is a retired university professor living in Alabama. Leaving behind the drudgery of writing scientific articles and text books, he now writes short stories and flash fiction pieces reflecting the people and culture of the anthracite coal region of Pennsylvania where he grew up.
Slithering, sliding, slipping… Rory the ravenous raccoon eased his way through the gap under the newly painted fence with a patience that belied his urgency.
There! He was through, and scampering into the safety of the woods.
They found Elvis dead that morning. The orange paw prints were never reported.
This story was based on a prompt from @MisterFiendZero.
He had the biggest, bushiest, amazingest beard.
People would approach him in restaurants or on the street and ask to take his picture. He was half celebrity, half tourist attraction.
The mayor accused him of using a fake beard, but testing determined that it was real.
The mayor was impeached.