Life can be excruciating. Death can be a welcome release.
A light of comforting and joyous brilliance pulled him on, yet when he heard her call his name he stopped, and decided he must return to try again.
He didn’t know there was a reception committee (and they had cookies).
From a darkened room in Madison, Wisconsin, Bill writes about reanimated mummies, intelligent golems, and all things that frighten him in the hopes that someday they might not.
Cynthia had made a habit of sneaking cookies out of the jar when Mom left the room.
One day, Mom caught her, and Cynthia received a crisp slap on the wrist.
The next afternoon, Cynthia emerged from her bedroom with foam padding taped to her wrists, and took a cookie.
This story was based on the prompt “slap on the wrist” at TypeTrigger.
I am the Six-Year-Old Batman.
I swore an oath on the grave of my tummy I would rid the kitchen of semi-sweet chips melted in crispy, chewy batter. By day I have a million open-air playdates. By night? I am the bib-caped crusader.
Cookies are a cowardly and superstitious lot.
Woody Tondorf is a writer/director living in Los Angeles. His newest series on Hulu, The Morning After, can be seen in every country that ends in “States of America.” For everyone else, there’s youtube.com/elevatorshow.
Chocolate brownies are delightful. But not with nuts in them.
Chewy cookies are delightful. But not with nuts in them.
Insane asylums are delightful. But not with nuts in them.
Exploding fireworks are delightful. But not with nuts in them.
Repetitive statements are delightful. But not with nuts in them.