Last night I went to bed early, which was a shame, really, because when I woke up (late), I found muddy dinosaur footprints all throughout the kitchen and dining room, and the big pot of soup in the fridge was empty.
I hope they come back again tonight. Chili’s on!
This story was based on the prompt “last night I” at TypeTrigger.
He knew it was a blessing to be special, to stand out, but sometimes it could be very isolating. Though surrounded by a sea of people, he felt alone, like a cabbage in a field of lettuce.
Plus this old Ukrainian lady kept trying to make soup out of him.
This story is based on a title suggested by @KatieInTheAttic.
Every night, Reginald tossed and turned in his bed, covering his ears with his pillow, but the slurping and sipping and smacking just wouldn’t stop.
He never said anything, though; the rent was too good to risk a conflict.
He eventually began to wonder about all the “Missing Pet” posters.
This story was based on a title suggested by @ugotpauld.
“What’s our special tonight?”
“…Is that soup, or stew?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah I’m sure. It’s under ‘Soups’ in the cook book.”
“What cook book?”
“This red one with the gold filigree.”
“That’s not a cook book. That’s an encyclopedia.”