“You believe in them?”
“Of course!”
“Rubbish, there is no such thing as superheroes!”
The speeding truck that crushed him got away.
“Only a miracle can save him,” they said.
Five hours later:
“Operation successful,” said the young surgeon.
“I take back my words,” he said when he came to.
Andy believes in keeping her bio shorter than fifty words for this one. To follow her mischief, click on www.andypaula.in.
“Frederick, your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired.”
He turned to encounter Miss Stone, aged some, but sharp-tongued as ever.
“Your patient is my twin sister who fell ill yesterday.”
“B-B-But,” he stuttered.
“You thought it was me in the wheelchair?” she interrupted.
“Two of them?” he thought.
John B Sinclair is a much-travelled Scot who has now returned to Scotland, where he enjoys freelance writing on a variety of subjects.
Editor’s Note: This story is a sequel to Payback.
“Doctor, how to such certainty can you be so sure the man was dead?”
“His brain was in a jar on a shelf at the morgue.”
“Nonetheless, could he have been alive in any way?”
“It’s possible, counselor, if he is in fact living, he’s practicing law in this courtroom.”
Gary Clifton, forty years a cop, has short fiction pieces published or pending with over 60 online sites. He has an M.S. from Abilene Christian University.
“So you say you gave birth to a… dinosaur.”
“Yes, doctor.”
“And that’s him, there? He looks quite normal to me.”
“He’s a dinosaur, really!”
“Well, if he is a dinosaur, when I place my finger in his mouth he should—HE BIT MY HAND OFF!!”
“I told you so.”
This was story was based on a title suggested by @Keab42.
Hailey looked concernedly into Kimmy’s watery eyes and said, “You look as sad as a koala bear with strep throat.”
Kimmy coughed and winced.
Hailey reached up into the eucalyptus tree and took Kimmy in her arms. The ailing marsupial snuggled up.
This was why Hailey had become a veterinarian.
“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.”
Harry paid.
“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.”
“Right. That.”
“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!”