Chester “Chatterbox” Paolo struggled against his bonds. “Let me go! I swear I didn’t say nothin’ to nobody!”
“Tell it to the fishes, rat!” said his assailant, pushing him off the bridge.
Chatterbox plunged. As the icy water filled his lungs, he began to regret his choice of gangster nickname.
Matthew Holman is a student of English Literature who finds it easier to write fifty-word stories than to finish his dissertation.
A glowing box with a door poofed into the middle of the world’s first patent office with an electric flash. A haggard man burst out of it.
“Sir, quickly! I’ve come from the past to claim a patent!”
“Certainly,” said the patent officer. “On what?”
“I call it Chewing Gum!”
“So are you in?” asked Janice, brandishing a stack of brand new business cards.
“I like your enthusiasm,” said the investor, “but…”
Janice frowned. “But what?”
“I’m not sure the world really needs a Leviathan Tamer.”
He felt differently in the morning, in a sort of slobbery, lifeless, half-digested way.
This story was based on a title suggested by @MisterFiendZero.
Head tilted to one side, the Tweet Detective listened intently.
There it was: “Caw-tweet-caw!”
“I must know what species of bird that is!” cried the Tweet Detective. “It will solve the entire murder!”
He thought for a moment, then withdrew his iPhone, opened Twitter, and asked the internet for help.
This story was based on a title suggested by @Beryllium.
It stepped gingerly from floor tile to floor tile, peering through the panes of glass with eyes widened by wonder and awe.
“Why ya gettin’ all googly-eyed?” asked a child. “Ain’tcha never seen a candy store before?”
It hadn’t. And its translator was broken.
It felt threatened. It reacted poorly.
This story was based on a title suggested by @Keab42.
After thirty days of rain, the clouds got bored, so they made it snow, instead.
People whined and complained, but the clouds didn’t speak English, because they had come from Brazil.
The local government hired some Brazilians to complain to the clouds on their behalf. It didn’t really work, though.
I learned to knit when I was two. Now I can follow complicated patterns and all my friends receive knitted creations for their birthdays.
My husband is annoyed by the click-clack of my needles, and I suspect he is plotting his revenge. Perhaps he’ll knit me up in my shroud.
Cath Barton lives in Wales. She has many pastimes, including writing, but is not a great knitter.
Hamburger Hank took three steps into the restaurant, gasped, spun on his heel, and stormed out.
“What’s wrong?” asked French Fry Felicia.
“They sell chicken as if it’s a hamburger!” cried Hamburger Hank. “It’s a travesty!”
“So what?” asked French Fry Felicia.
“I have a real beef with chicken burgers.”
Once upon a time, Captain Scowlyface found himself clinging to a slippery, moss-covered rock at the peak of a raging waterfall. He wasn’t happy about it, so he scowled so harshly that the river dried up , leaving behind a series of puddles that said “SORRY; PLEASE SMILE!”
But he didn’t.
@BearHawkWriter deserves credit for the title “The Adventures of Captain Scowlyface.”
“Yo, man. I thought Randy carried this song. You got a great low-end range there, dog.
“But Paula, you were pretty pitchy, and Simon, honestly, work on your rhythm. You missed, like, half your cues!”
“Wow!” said Ryan Seacrest. “This is exactly why we’re doing American Idol: Judge the Judges!”