A girl in a red hood skips along the forest path. A wolf beholds, entranced. His mouth waters.
He never hears two little pigs sneak up.
The pigs drag the unconscious wolf away, discuss rebuilding their flattened homes. They can afford brick now; the girl’s grandma has paid them well.
Maura Yzmore is a Midwest-based writer of short fiction and career nerd. See more at maurayzmore.comstories/ and Twitter: @MauraYzmore.
I swirl, dip, leap and step,
To the rhythmic, rolling, reverberating melody,
Of gleaming copper, and polished bronze;
A shivering note, long held in the air.
The deep, monotonous, shivering song,
of shining, gleaming, chiming bells.
I must leave before the twelfth gong.
Prepare my pumpkin.
I lost my shoe.
Ellen is a 12-year-old student at Crofton House. She enjoys making puns.
The upkeep was never-ending; it took a week to wash, a week to dry, a week to comb, a week to braid; just so she could dangle it out the window for an afternoon, like a fishing line among the thorns, a temptation to witless boys spying from the brambles.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and prizes. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled “Nothing But Trouble”. Visit BobThurber.net.
She skipped contentedly, ignoring the gnarled trees with knotted braches that clawed at her. Her rich, scarlet cloak rippled in the bitter, icy wind, trailing behind her.
As she bounded joyfully down the sandy, meandering path she was oblivious to the malevolent wolf who was settled in the sombre shadows.
Danusia Pantechis is 12 years old and loves to draw and watch Youtube. Her favourite films are the Hunger Games and Harry Potter trilogies. She loves taking her dog Trevor for walks in fields. When she grows up she wants to be a fashion designer or interior designer.
In the castle dungeon, seven little men were strung up, waiting for a turn on the rack.
“All right,” said the Prince, flicking his whip, “anyone want to confess? No? Then let’s begin. You’re up first, Happy.”
After the birth of Princess Snow White’s half-dwarf daughter, things had gotten ugly.
Eliza Archer writes flash fiction and drinks too much coffee. She can be found at elizaarcher.com.
Seeing the empty porridge bowls on their return, the bears tiptoed upstairs.
They checked Little Bear’s bedroom. The bed was ruffled!
Then the Middle Bear’s bedroom: likewise ruffled.
But in Big Bear’s bedroom the bed was neat. He exclaimed, “You lazy lot! Don’t you make your own beds?”
Stuart Larner is a chartered psychologist. He has published poems and stories in magazines and newspapers and for the stage, as well as articles in scientific journals. Stuart has written an ebook in verse, “Jack Daw and the Cat”, and a novel about cricket entitled “Guile and Spin”. See more of his work at stuartlarner.blogspot.com.
She waited. It was all she could do, under the circumstances. She slept and slept, cursing her stupid life and everything that led to this moment.
“An apple a day,” her mother taught. She wished she could roll her eyes.
Instead, she laid waiting for Prince Charming, that tardy boy.
Jarrod Withers graduated a while back with a Masters in English from Eastern Kentucky University. He grew up an only child in rural Kentucky, so his best friend was his imagination. His best friend often got him in trouble.
Once upon a time there were three bears, Papa, Mama, and Baby Bear.
They left home one day and a young girl wandered in.
But Papa forgot his cellphone and, though Mama was mad, they returned.
Discovering Goldilocks, they made a quick meal of her, and lived happily ever after.
Alexander Key teaches high school, sometimes, when absolutely necessary.
“Who’s that trip-trapping over my bridge?”
The three billygoats prepared to flee.
“There’s a toll!” said the troll.
“Is that all?” said Mother Goat. “How much is it?”
“An arm and a leg,” said the troll. “Or two legs, in your case.”
Now the goats have to drag themselves everywhere.
This story was based on the TypeTrigger
prompt “takes a toll.”
Every morning, as the sun comes up, the stars awaken.
Stars are not nocturnal, as many assume. They actually sleep all night and dance during the day, when their predators, the owls, can’t see them.
So when you see a shooting star, remember: a hungry owl is chasing after it.
This story is based on a title suggested by @facelesscog.