He’d killed his first outlaw after drinking bourbon for breakfast; it had become part of his routine.
For similar reasons, he drank saké for supper and lemonade for lunch, though he didn’t much advertise the latter.
One time he swallowed mud at midnight, so he let the train robbers go.
This story is based on a title suggested by the ever profuse @MisterFiendZero.
“Sink or swim” was not a particularly relevant idiom for Nelson the narcoleptic turtle. He floated, and good thing, too, or he’d probably fall asleep, sink, and die. Instead he just bobbed along on the surface, snoring softly.
One day Nelson floated ashore and fell asleep there.
Narcolepsy is boring.
This story is based on a title suggested by @Vanguard1219.
It made me mad that I couldn’t hide my sadness from them.
As the sun transformed my smile and let me age prematurely, I couldn’t forgive them for already moving on.
My last thought when my coal eyes hit the ground? “You little rascals will know the feeling soon enough!”
Originally from Germany, Tine moved to California about a year ago. Since then she has become a full-time mom taking care of a four-year-old chatterbox, which makes the fifty-word story a perfect format for her.
Rudolf hopped on one foot, pirouetted, leapt to and fro, wiggled his hips, do-si-doed, executed a graceful plie, moonwalked, discoed, waltzed, two-stepped, wriggled like a worm, jigged like a hillbilly, and slapped his knees, but no matter what he did, it kept snowing.
Apparently he wasn’t a raindeer after all.
I want to eat my flatmate
I think he knows it, too
He watches me suspiciously
Whenever we buy food
It’s happening tomorrow
I’m going to boil his head
Wait: is this a man-shaped pan
Hidden beneath his bed?
I want to eat my flatmate
He may eat me instead
This story/poem is based on a title suggested by @big_poppa_G.
“Oh man, I am in so much trouble,” he gasped.
He thought he’d slept in past his wedding ceremony. It was the worst feeling of his life.
“Don’t worry,” said his fiancée when he called her. “You didn’t ruin the wedding. I found a replacement groom. You’re off the hook.”
She’d planned to make the most dramatic appearance of all time, bigger than Blücher at the Battle of Waterloo, bigger than Santa on Christmas Eve, bigger than Uncle Joe at her 18th birthday.
But she was a full day late.
When teleporting onto a moving ship, that’s a significant problem.
On the thirteenth day of Christmas, her true love gave her thirteen feral children.
He intended to adopt them into a loving, nurturing home, but having been raised from infancy by lions, they were just too far gone.
She ended up with five drummers, two ladies, and a turtle dove.
LaRoche leaned over the edge and gazed down on the street below.
There wasn’t even a single car.
That wasn’t unusual, because it was 1723. Louis XV had just attained his majority, and it wouldn’t be long before the Treaty of St. Petersburg was signed.
Then he jumped.
Then he landed.
Today’s fifty-word story was partially inspired by reading Les Miserables, which is a very description-heavy, context-heavy book. Lord of the Rings is another. I love them both.
I never understood checkers.
When you leap over another piece, it’s captured? What, do they all have gigantic nets or something?
And why flat discs? Why not something more representative, like in chess?
When the UFOs began to descend, I realized the truth: they had been preparing us for war.
Soon to be a student of culinary arts and therefore thrilled that he can call himself an “art student” and act pretentious on a technicality, Bruce Rytel’s hobbies include writing, gaming, and going by a pseudonym.