A pushchair on its side; something’s not right.
A car hastily parked, askew.
An unfamiliar brown (everybody knows blood is red) sprawling stain on the road leads to a lady sitting hunched on the pavement, cradling.
I later discovered it was a dog, fatally wounded.
Relief, yet someone will mourn.
Steve Gardiner is an accountant living in the UK.
Chewy sniffed his master’s leg before biting it. Who could blame him? He was a hungry dog. His master beat him more often than he fed him.
His master could not beat Chewy now for biting him. All he could do was keep lying on the floor, feeding his dog.
Chris Griglack was born and raised in Massachusetts where he has lived for 23 years. He graduated from the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth in 2012 with a degree in Writing, Rhetoric, and Communications.
The man stood on his lawn, scarf snug, hat pulled low. He watched children making snow angels, giggling.
Then, a scream.
The attacker tore into the man’s arm. He severed his head, mauled his face.
The assault lasted only seconds, but the memory remains. The day our dog ate Frosty.
Paul Amelchenko is a freelance creative director/copywriter and a lecturer at the University of Miami. He teaches courses in Copywriting for Digital & Traditional Media, Advertising Concept & Copywriting and Portfolio Development. www.paulamelchenko.com
I lost my favorite mitten this morning.
My dog tried to eat it and choked on it. He couldn’t see very well from all the smoke in the air. My parents wouldn’t have either, but they slept through it.
Now I’m outside, and it’s really cold. I miss my mitten.
Kieran Ivison is a student attending Southeast Missouri State University. He is currently pursuing a Bachelor of Arts in Music Performance and a minor in Mass Communication. He also enjoys writing and randomly browsing the internet.
Living amongst death and decay was simply part of being a necromancer, but Khin-Topekh hadn’t expected so much loneliness.
Employing his best problem-solving skills, the necromancer went to the pet store and picked out a puppy.
Little Fidus made him very happy, until she started stealing bones from his corpses.
This story is based on a title suggested by @Invariel.
Jurgen shook free of the dog’s steel-trap grip and tossed it over the cliff. For a moment, he felt guilty; then he cleansed the useless emotions from his mind.
They were coming, with guns and flashlights.
If the animal shelter would not give him a pet, he would take one.
I know this guy who saves puppies. He hears the world’s gonna end. He doesn’t believe it, he’s not religious, but he wants it to be true. When it doesn’t happen, he’s depressed.
So was I. I was depressed because the guy who saves puppies wants the world to end.
Walter Campbell lives and works in Philadelphia, went to school in New England, and grew up in LA, but he’ll write pretty much anywhere. Recently, his work has been published in Jersey Devil, Six Sentences, Dogzplot, MicroHorror, Toasted Cheese, and Glossolalia.
There was a complete stranger in the house, and no one else seemed to care. Jill and Bobby even seemed to like the trespassing feline.
So Mitsy began sneezing and sniffling and mewling.
She knew how things worked: they’d never keep the new cat if it was creating allergy problems.
Most mornings, George joined the queue at the butcher’s and waited patiently. He always left with two fresh sausages, and the butcher wished more of his customers were as polite and gentlemanly.
The stray mutt, however, wished the butcher would throw him a nice bone every now and then, instead.
Bryce Main is an author and a writer of ad copy. He discovered 50-word stories recently and finds reading them immensely enjoyable. This is the first he’s written.
“Ruff woof,” said Fido, wagging his tail, but Max just said, “Bad dog,” and put him out in the back yard, because Max didn’t understand the witty wordplay (barkplay?) Fido was using, which involved a canine equivalent of something like “putting the ‘toy’ in ‘toilet’,” and was really very clever.