“I’m sick of being single.”
“Yeah, me too. It’s totally lame. It’s hard to do anything about it though, you know?”
“Well, this is kind of counter-intuitive, but apparently if we don’t want to be single anymore, we have to split.”
“Worth a try. Anything’s better than staying single-celled forever.”
One after another, Meg ignored all of the warning signs that her blind date might be trouble: his deathly-pale complexion; the creaky door to his castle and the heavy drapes that kept the so-called solarium dark as a dungeon; his Transylvanian accent; the lobster bib with her picture on it…
John H. Dromey has had flash fiction published in a number of print anthologies, as well as online at Liquid Imagination, three minute plastic, Thrillers, Killers ’n’ Chillers, and elsewhere.
*click*
Oh no.
*click click*
It’s jammed! This is bad. REALLY BAD.
*click click click click*
What am I going to do?! Any second now he’s going to turn around and see me, and then…
*click click BANG*
Phew!
I thought I might get blamed for breaking his nail gun.
This story was based on the TypeTrigger prompt “faulty trigger”.
First their eyes danced, glancing and winking. Then their feet danced, carrying them in intersecting paths. Next came the dance of voices: introductions, banter, flirtation.
He anticipated the dance of lips: she replied with the dance of the open palm.
Nursing wounded pride and cheek, he retreated, his rhythm lost.
This story was based on a title suggested by @Wolfgang_Cloud.
You never know it’s coming until it arrives. You think you’re prepared, you think you’ve thought through all the contingencies, you think you’re a quick reactor, and then BAM, it hits you, and you find yourself crying to the Heavens, “Why me!?”
That unscratchable itch, just barely out of reach…
This story was based on the TypeTrigger prompt “you never know.”
I love you.
Steve told me that you are into latin lovers, so I kneel before you and say, “Te amo. Cor meum te petit. Sine te non volo vivere. Et tu me amabisne?”
You answer, “What?”
Guess you do not want your lovers to be that Latin after all.
Lucas is a science student from Germany who likes to write stuff in his free time. You can find more of his work (in German) at his website: lucas.treffenstaedt.de.
My son told me his purple stuffed worm was alive. “I caught it sneaking out last night.”
“Where was it going?” I asked.
“To eat some tomatoes.”
I laughed, kissed him goodnight, and took my flashlight out to the garden.
Sure enough, I caught that sneaky tomato thief around midnight.
This story was based on a title suggested by @TheMoatman.
“Aren’t the flowers pretty?” I asked my young son during our picnic.
He shrugged noncommittally.
“Oh, come on,” I pressed him. “You can’t really care that little. Imagine how you’d feel if all the daisies disappeared!”
“If all the Daisies were gone,” he said, “all the Donalds would be lonely.”
This story is based on a title suggested by @Fayili.
Detective Jackson sat on the table. “Tell me, Karl: how did you feel when you saw the deceased kissing your ex-girlfriend?”
“I was a little sad, that’s all.”
“Oh really. Lorne, what does the mood ring say?”
“It’s red, Jackson.”
“That means anger, Karl, not sadness. Tell the truth, son!”
This story is based on a title suggested by @GreatTrollKing.
“Excuse me, sir. You’ll have to come down.”
“Is there a problem, officer?”
“Well, yes. You see, you’re standing on the ceiling.”
“Indeed. What of it?”
“It’s against regulations.”
“What regulations are those?”
“Oh, you know, physics, mostly.”
“Ah, I wasn’t aware.” Fwump.
“Much obliged, sir. Ambulance?”
“…Yes, thank you…”
This story is based on a title suggested by @Vanguard1219.