Mister Murder Mouth cackled villainously. “If you want to live, answer this mathematical skill-testing question! Multiply my social security number by the cost of replacing my birth certificate!”
“Evil, dirty, filthy, rotten cheater!” I cried. “You’re an illegal immigrant! You have no SSN!”
“Blast,” he said, and I walked free.
This story is based on a title suggested by @metcarfre.
Most mornings, George joined the queue at the butcher’s and waited patiently. He always left with two fresh sausages, and the butcher wished more of his customers were as polite and gentlemanly.
The stray mutt, however, wished the butcher would throw him a nice bone every now and then, instead.
Bryce Main is an author and a writer of ad copy. He discovered 50-word stories recently and finds reading them immensely enjoyable. This is the first he’s written.
Milos wanted to stand out, to be remembered.
As he wheeled the life-sized, entirely edible cake replica of himself into the room, he knew he had succeeded.
Every member of the cannibal collective oohed and aahed.
“The volunteer provides dessert, right?” Milos beamed. “Now you get to eat me twice!”
“Papa Panda! Papa Panda!”
There it went again.
“Papa Panda!”
It was incessant, unceasing, never-ending. (Synonyms were one of Papa Panda’s few pleasures.)
Papa Panda rolled over, half-opened one eye, and gestured impatiently at the annoying, agitating throng.
The tourists roared with glee.
Papa Panda found zoo life emotionally taxing.
Sunsy was a real chirp flirt. He went after anyone who had wings and a beak and laid eggs.
The dove turned him down gently.
The owl lectured him on Breed Loyalty.
The eagle just stared imperiously until he went away.
The peahen merely scoffed.
And then the pigeon attacked.
This story is based on a title suggested by @Vigafray and a prompt offered by @NekoDaimyo.
She knocked on the door, then nocked an arrow.
“Greetings, homeowner,” she said. “Would you like to sign our anti-longbow petition?”
“Uh, sure,” said the citizen. He signed. Then she shot him in the leg.
“Thanks,” she said. “Register your assault charge with the police to help advance our cause!”
Shouts were heard. There were tears streaming left and right.
Her eyes held a look of exasperation and urgency. She sprinted for her life. Time was running out. Was she going to make it?
Three, two, one…
Ding!
She grabbed the hot dish and handed it to her hungry daughter.
Connor Wright is a seventh grade student who passionately loves to write and is intrigued by 50-word stories.
Much to his chagrin, Tim discovered that several indispensable streams of life were converging at that precise moment. Unfortunately, they were not complementary. There was the possibility that he could endanger the enjoyment of one or the other.
Should he choose the honeymoon suite with the twenty-four hour sports channel?
Harv Thiessen, my soon-to-be uncle-in-law, wrote this story for me for my birthday. It’s playoff time in the NHL right now, so how am I going to be able to fully relax on my honeymoon unless I can watch the Canucks play!?
Even from beyond its flickering glow, we could feel the heat of the raging fire, harsh against our alabaster skin. We were drawn closer, forced forward by the spears that pierced us. Our flesh erupted, becoming golden and charred, just before we were shoved in between chocolate and graham crackers.
Maximillian White has been telling stories since he could speak, and writing – often legibly – for almost as long. Check out more of his work at elitefool.com and ridiculousity.net.
He also wrote Saving Daylight.
Critics and laymen shared exclamations of delight as they wandered in awe through the halls of Fallo’s gallery.
“The texture!” they said. “The movement! The tone! The pizzazz!”
Everyone wanted to know Fallo’s secret.
He told them, “My tools are my heart and my toothbrush,” and flashed a paint-stained smile.