The aroma of chicken soup teases my nostrils, now red and swollen.
I squinch my eyes from sinus pain. Temples throb. Joints ache.
My pity party halts as I reflect on the chicken’s last day. What it ate. How it died.
Maybe I’ll eat scrambled eggs and buttered toast instead.
Jeff Switt likes to write.
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.
Billy Goat was waiting in the yard when Mrs. Wolf came strolling by with her son in a stroller.
“Good morning,” said Mrs. Wolf.
“Have you seen my squirrel?” said Billy, icily.
“Your little pet?” Something inside the stroller squeaked desperately. “Ah,” said Mrs. Wolf. “Well, boys will be boys!”
There is a monster in the mountains that preys on bumblebees, daffodils, and woodland creatures, swallowing them whole into its enormous belly.
Some say there’s a garden in there, a paradise where the flowers bloom and the wildlife lives on, frolicking. They’ve forgotten that the monster once swallowed a bear.
This story was based on the prompt “in the mountains” on TypeTrigger.
Bollenhall is not a nice place. It is hot, dry, and boring. Very few tourists go there on vacation.
Most of Bollenhall’s residents leave when they reach adulthood. The mayor passed a “free cake on Thursdays” bylaw to convince people to stay.
Bollenhall’s residents are hot, dry, bored, and fat.
This story was based on the prompt “but there’s cake” at TypeTrigger. Read other writers’ responses here.
Dr. Ruination glowered across the table at superspy John Bolt. He tapped his fork, waiting for Bolt to start dining. Since they’d ordered the same meal, Dr. Ruination wasn’t positive he hadn’t received the poisoned one. He could have thrown his meal away, but he never liked to waste food.
This is the fourth in a series of five stories by King Kool.
Sweet, but a little dull. He liked YouTube and drawing crazy stuff; could have been an artist if it weren’t for me.
We thought the food of the gods was cute stuff like ambrosia. It’s not. I ate Jack. Not all of him, just that bloody, soppy heart.
Claire Martin is an almost-graduate student who must get a job, or learn to eat dust.
Kevin, like most men, tended to measure himself by his accomplishments. That was why he worked so hard to get his picture up on the wall at Mister Meatmouth’s Restaurant.
“I ate it all,” he told his friends, “in one sitting.” They respected him for that.
Inexplicably, most women didn’t.
This story is based on a title suggested by @KittyCatalyst.
Milos wanted to stand out, to be remembered.
As he wheeled the life-sized, entirely edible cake replica of himself into the room, he knew he had succeeded.
Every member of the cannibal collective oohed and aahed.
“The volunteer provides dessert, right?” Milos beamed. “Now you get to eat me twice!”
Ten minutes later, Jon was still staring into the open refrigerator.
“I thought you weren’t hungry,” Stephanie said.
“I’m not,” Jon replied, closing the door. “Ever wonder if it gets lonely?”
“The fridge?” she asked.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
The fridge tried not to cry.
Ryan Hall is a computer programming graduate student at the University at Buffalo in NY, hoping to go into game design. He started writing microfiction to deal with stress from programming projects.