“Help me, Doctor!” yelled Harry.
“What’s the problem?”
“I can’t write 50-word stories.”
“I’ll check your head bumps. A-hah! Your Inflated Prose, Trivial Detail, and Superfluous Description bumps are too high. I’ll lower them for $300 cash.”
“Brace yourself. This is going to hurt. Nurse, hand me that sledgehammer.”
Michael A. Kechula’s flash fiction and microfiction has been published in 132 magazines and 42 anthologies. His four books of flash fiction are available from BooksForABuck.com.
“I’m insane,” declared Carmen.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said her doctor bemusedly.
“I insist,” said Carmen. “I’m one-hundred percent crazy.”
“Are you hoping to get a prescription of some sort?”
“What, like a cheeseburger or something?”
“Ah, I see,” said the doctor. “You aren’t insane; you’re hungry.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said the doctor. “You’re dying.”
The words hit me like a boxing glove with a fist inside it swung intentionally towards my head by a professional martial artist.
“What!?” I gasped.
“Only kidding!” he said.
My fist hit him like his words had hit me. But harder.
“That’s enough!” roared the Prince.
“But Your Majesty…”
“I said that’s enough!”
The page lowered his head and cautiously withdrew the cereal box. “But the doctor said–”
“Hang the doctor!” shouted the Prince. “Behead him! If I only want to eat six Cheerios, I’m only going to eat six Cheerios!”
“Surely, Doctor, there must be something you can try. Please!”
“I’m afraid all we can do is make you comfortable, my dear. Although…”
“What is it? Tell me!”
“Well, it’s a long shot, but you know what they say about laughter.”
“That it’s the best medicine?”
“Exactly! It’s a punacea!”
She danced like a bird; she danced like a gazelle; she danced like a hurricane.
She danced like chocolate; she danced like a song; she danced like a rainbow.
After the accident, the doctors say, though her body was motionless, she danced in her mind, painting pictures in their EEGs.