She arrived atop of hill wheezing like a cracked bellows. Her ragged breathing stoked her brother’s competitive fires, and like a shot he was off again, skidding across the snow aboard the rusty old toboggan.
THWUMP! He hit the jump. The sled broke cleanly in two.
He hooted: “I win!”
This story was based on the prompt “wheezing” at TypeTrigger.
Unknown really hated it. Of all the places she could imagine being imagined into, inside the mind of a writer who only specialised in 50-word stories was probably the most restricting existence possible.
“Quick,” she thought to herself, “I must do something memorable!”
But there were only ten words left.
Oliver is 24, and lives in England. He dislikes the cold, that is, unless he is too warm.
Through the hole in the baseboard Mac Mouse could see the cheese rind lying tantalizingly near, a mere scamper away.
“No!” cried Ma, grasping his tail. “It ain’t worth it!”
Mac fumed. “You can’t hold me forever, Ma.”
Caractacus Cat grinned silently. Mac’s patience was what he was counting on.
When I scored the first goal, my confidence went shooting through the roof.
When I coughed the ball up, resulting in a goal against, my confidence went plummeting into the earth.
When I was handed my big fat paycheck after the game, my confidence wasn’t really affected in either direction.
This story was based on the prompt “went shooting” at TypeTrigger.
Charging into battle astride a fat, stubborn elephant had never been high on General Coriando’s list of Things To Accomplish In Life. As arrows whizzed past his ears, he lamented, “I could’ve been a baker, or a tailor! I could’ve joined the circus!”
The elephant was thinking the same thing.
“I have never before encountered such impudence!” blustered the King. “It is an affront! It is an outrage! Insulting! Degrading! Disrespectful! I should have you put in the stocks, clapped in irons, hanged, beheaded! You’re just so very, very… Well, impudent!”
“My most humble and sincere apologies,” said the imp.
This story was based on the prompt “never before” at TypeTrigger.
“Let those feelings go!” the counselor suggests. “Pour them out across the floor! It’ll help.”
I start with a single teardrop dripped onto the carpet. Then suddenly I’m on my knees flailing my fists, bang bang bang.
I’m cured. I forgive my father.
But man do I hate floors now.
This story was based on the prompt “pour it out” at TypeTrigger.
They decide to spent some time apart so they can get their priorities straight, sort out their emotions, and gain a new perspective on their situation.
It changes nothing. Within a month they’re back where they started, lying on that operating table, begging the surgeon to stitch them back together.
This story was based on the prompt “time apart” at TypeTrigger.
My neighbours are quiet, peaceful and private. It’s great, because it would suck to be interrupted by nosy, whining neighbours during my thrice-weekly parties.
When I shoot off fireworks at 2 AM they come out and yell until they’re blue in the face. That’s how I know they’re really enjoying it.
This story was based on the prompt “loud neighbor” at TypeTrigger.
In fair weather or foul, the mail must get through.
No one knows why anymore. It has been possible for a decade to send any message electronically and to replicate or actuate any object that might previously have required physical transportation.
I suppose the mail carriers have a good union.
This story was based on the prompt “in fair weather” on TypeTrigger.