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.
The emperor, being in a good mood, invited a peasant to ask him any question he desired.
“What,” inquired the peasant, “is your favourite body part?”
The emperor circumspectly intoned, “My knee!”
That is why the revolutionaries severed it from his leg and mounted it here, on this pedestal, in 1747.
This story is based on a title suggested by @Graham_LRR.
Sydney the snake slid down a slippery slope.
Since getting stuck in a snare made of sticks and some string, she’d somehow succumbed to an embarrassing, sibilant stutter. She was sneakily slithering in search of a slimy, secret spot where she could sink into obscurity.
Sadly, she never found it.
This story was based on a title suggested by @danzama.
Chocolate brownies are delightful. But not with nuts in them.
Chewy cookies are delightful. But not with nuts in them.
Insane asylums are delightful. But not with nuts in them.
Exploding fireworks are delightful. But not with nuts in them.
Repetitive statements are delightful. But not with nuts in them.
After being married for thirty years he thought he’d pretty much figured her out, but when she came home with a baby crocodile for Christmas he realized she was as beautifully, wonderfully mysterious to him now as she always had been, which wasn’t much consolation when it ate the dog.
The virus targeted only medical professionals and civil engineers.
No one was left who knew how to figure out why the plague had targeted such a specific population. But that wasn’t the biggest problem: city planning failed, crooked minds prevailed, and before long, the streets were made of monkey bars.
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.
There was a door at the end of the hall.
No one knew where it led. Some said a bathroom. Some said a secret cellar. Some said France.
Only one man claimed to know the secret.
He died in a car accident. No one asked very many questions after that.
This story was based on a title suggested by @C_h_a_s_e_y.
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.