Dr. Ruination slapped the red button that lowered John Bolt, handsome and impeccably dressed spy, into the huge aquarium.
Bolt found himself afloat in a stagnant pool of foul smelling water, surrounded by decaying fish carcasses.
Dr. Ruination was horrified. “Who turned off the oxygen pump for the barracuda tank?”
This is the second in a series of five stories by King Kool.
A stubborn gardener found a lamp in a potted plant. He cleaned it, and a genie emerged.
“You have one wish,” she said.
“Whatever I wish, you’ll make it awful. So I wish genies didn’t exist.”
The genie zapped him to ash. “As far as he knows, I granted it.”
This is the fifth in a series of stories from King Kool, who has previously contributed multiple other series.
“What are you up to?” muttered Wendel, eyes narrowed.
None of the fifty-seven fuzzy orange caterpillars inching across his driveway offered an explanation.
“I don’t trust you,” said Wendel. Then he stomped one, for emphasis.
Deep underground, the Caterpillar Council murmured grimly. Casualties had always been inevitable in this war.
A man sits in an overstuffed chair in the middle of a room. There is nothing else in the room except for about twenty dogs, most of them barking. There is a loaded revolver beside the chair.
Once a day the man gets up and shoots one of the dogs.
Richard Pannbacker is a retired biochemist/teacher/sheepfarmer living in Manhattan, Kansas. He writes short stories, short short stories and still shorter seven-line flash fiction. He is the winner of the 22nd Annual “Kansas Voices” short story contest and has had short stories accepted by Pill Hill Press and The Right-Eyed Deer.
Today we’ve got too many professional law-upholders sittin’ at home, out of a job. Why? ‘Cause they do their work too well! Nobody treats crime like business anymore. It’s a risk versus reward thing.
That’s why I got a government bank account and a brand-new job description: increase the reward.
“Watch closely, folks! I’m about to make this volunteer completely disappear!”
It happened with a flash and a bang. The volunteer was nowhere to be seen.
After the show, the magician found the volunteer under the stage. As planned, the fireworks had perfectly disguised the gunshot.
This never got old.
This story was based on a suggestion from @danzama.
One shot is all it takes. He is dead.
Her blouse is wet with blood. Her cigarette rests between her swollen lips as she drags him through the dead leaves with a shovel in hand. She doesn’t cry until she drops his limp body in the hole.
His collar jingles.
Adam is a student at Rowan University and plans on graduating in December 2010. He is an avid writer, concentrating on contemporary adult fiction and concrete poetry. He is currently working on a collection of selected poems, revising and perfecting the prose. His website is adamgpoetry.tumblr.com.
Sigmund dove for cover, gunshots ringing in his ears.
“Hello,” said Carl’s ghost.
“Girly scream!” said Sigmund.
“You just killed me,” said Carl’s ghost.
“…Sorry?” squeaked Sigmund.
Carl’s ghost shrugged.
“Blam!” said Carl’s partner’s gun as it shot Sigmund.
“Girly scream!” said Carl’s partner.
“I’m really hungry,” said Carl’s ghost.
“If I ever turn into a vampire, will you kill me?”
“Sure thing, babe.”
“I wouldn’t want you to, you know. I’d want to bite you so you became a vampire, too.”
“I know, babe.”
“Then we’d become vampires together! We might really enjoy that.”
“You’re one already, aren’t you?”
“It’s curtains for you!” growls the thick-necked, heavily tattooed man.
“Excellent! I’ve been waiting all week! I’ve got this big, uncovered window over here, you see.”
“Gotcha. Good place for it.”
“Where do you want me?”
“Just stand in front of it there… Perfect.”
Breaking glass. Long fall. Sudden stop.