Henderson Michaelthromp knew a lot of facts. He read encyclopedias, record books, travel brochures, even Hansards.
No one ever seemed impressed, even when he knew the average lifespan of a diabetic macaw.
Then one day Henderson knew just the right facts to save a little girl’s life. And he did.
The genie gave him three wishes.
He wished he could fly.
The genie granted his wish, so he flew and flew and flew.
He wished he could land.
The genie granted his wish, so he fell and fell and fell.
He wished he could survive the fall.
The genie winked.
“Honeybuns, could I have that stapler? Thanks!”
“Honeybuns, could you grab me a pen? Thank you!”
“Honeybuns, could you stand up so I can scrape some honey off your bum onto my toast? Much appreciated!”
Ever since an ironic factory accident, Mr. Honeybuns had become much more popular at office.
A raccoon, a wolf, and a bighorn sheep sat down for a cup of tea.
The kettle burned out, which made the wolf shout, “Woe, I say, woe unto me!”
Catastrophe brewed: the tea-less wolf stewed. (He was addicted, you see).
The raccoon knew kung-fu. Don’t ask about the sheep.
This story was inspired by a prompt from @Aeric90, who responded to a request for three mammals with wolf, raccoon, and bighorn sheep.
She was soft-spoken, quiet, and reserved. Her favorite word was mutability. She loved the idea of it, loved the concept of transformation and change.
He was brash, loud, and arrogant. His favorite thing to do was orate forcefully about the overwhelming inevitability of fate.
It was love at first fight.
Erin Sterling is constantly undergoing training montages to be an editor. When she is not training, she is stage managing, staffing at a community-based larping group, or sleeping.
Huddled in the muddy trenches, they dodged raindrops and warded off bullets with prayers.
“Man, this is really serious!” one soldier shouted to the other.
“Yeah, he usually writes lighthearted stories! This subject matter doesn’t really lend itself to jokes!”
“He’ll probably do some kind of meta-level cop-out with it!”
It was torturous sensory overload.
All the colours of the rainbow (along with a few nonconformist hues) strobed across a brightly illuminated screen. Dissonant, detuned tones blared and shrieked on powerful speakers.
He’d been told he was disabled, ineffective, useless. But the deaf, blind secret agent knew: ignorance is bliss.
He sprang awake, stifling a scream.
“It was just a dream!” he panted. “I’m not standing in front of the classroom in my underwear!”
“Keith, wake up!” shouted the teacher.
His eyes flew open and he blushed as the class laughed.
That was how Keith discovered his embarrassment-induced, false-awakening narcolepsy.
She looked left, then right, then strode purposefully out into the street.
Horns blared as drivers swerved to avoid her.
Oblivious to the mayhem around her, she reached the sidewalk, where she knelt and asked, “No, really, Ms. Chicken. What are you doing on the other side of the road?”
The girl cries in the subway station. I leave my friends to themselves and go over to her. We have a couple of drinks while she talks her sorrow away. The next morning I leave her, knowing she’ll be alright.
That’s what I should have done.
Please forgive me.
Jonas has written this story a couple of times before in different formats for different purposes in different languages.