He flourished like a magician, his red cape brilliantly catching the light.
She looked up, and he thought he saw the briefest of smiles before she hid again behind her coloured fan.
His heart swelled, his soul soared, and his lungs collapsed under the hooves of the unusually aggressive bull.
After winning the war, they had to figure out what to do with their free time.
They tried paintball, laser tag, Nerf guns, video games, team sports, martial arts, strip poker, and full-contact chess, but nothing quite filled their need.
They needed a new enemy; they built a space ship.
It’s Thursday. I hate Thursdays.
Thursdays are when the dames come, sobbing, pleading, and looking for a pro-bono Private Eye.
On Thursdays, I say “know” more often than a philosophy student who just learned about epistemology, but without the “k” and the “w”.
Today, I surprise myself. I say yes.
They found him in his living room.
He was known to drink to excess, but this was different. Everyone knew two things about Bill: he never wasted alcohol, and he kept his newspapers immaculate.
He’d spilled beer all over the paper. That’s how they knew it was a heart attack.
This story was based on a prompt from @davefp via Twitter. I asked for two nouns and a verb, and he supplied paper, heart, and drink.
Henry was sitting in the park, his wife and son beckoning him to join them.
He felt peace, but he was in pain.
He stood; stepped; stopped, struck by a force so great he felt he had no breath.
Then, “He’s back!” And the beeping on the cardiac machine resumed.
Larissa occassionally makes time to write down the meandering thoughts in her over-critical mind. She also wrote A Good Place.
The ant on Amy’s desk grew even bigger.
Amy looked around. No one seemed to notice.
The ant stared at Amy with its dinner plate-sized eyes, then sprouted wings and flew towards Mrs. Spencer, who screamed. Amy smiled.
”Do you find biology amusing, Amy?” Mrs. Spencer asked with a frown.
Emaan, 13, loves to write!
PIs’ apartments are worthless, but this was mine.
The thug inside had broken my seal on the door. The tape was like my services: cheap but effective. I felt less fear than the tape, though.
I relieved my holster of its lopsidedness.
The doorknob was cold. Soon, he would be.
Charlie Dunn is a college student studying abroad in Japan. He also wrote Full Count.
When they finally landed, they knew their plane would never fly again.
They gathered driftwood and heaped it into teepee-like piles. “These are not for cooking or warmth,” the captain said. “They are beacons.”
He hoarded the matches for weeks and used the last of them to signal the rescuers.
He peered over the edge of the bridge.
“Are you sure it won’t snap?”
“It’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Hundreds of people bungie jump here every year.”
“Safely?”
“Stop worrying and jump!”
“Fine.” He jumped.
Her cellphone rang. “What happened!? He’s still alive!”
“Sorry, boss. I couldn’t do it.”
The whispered words tiptoed from his lips and swarmed her mind, some filtered down into her subconscious and made themselves at home.
They lay dormant at first, but when they woke up they danced with her deepest fears…
He stole her silence and she would never forgive him for it.
This guest story comes from Honest, who loves to create, mostly with words, and hopes to inspire and be inspired. You can follow Honest on Twitter at http://twitter.com/Honestlyspeakin. Honest also wrote The Invisible Man.