Certain facial expressions can instantly bring a lump into your throat. Certain phrases can tie a knot in your stomach.
“I hate to have to tell you this…”
“I’m really sorry, but…”
“Why don’t you sit down.”
Then comes a forever moment, shaped like all your deepest fears.
Take heart.
The Lime Bandit was finally in handcuffs.
As they tossed him in the police car, they struggled to discover the origin behind his namesake (his crimes were never lime-related at all) but he just laughed.
They would find out soon enough; the strategically hidden tick nests would be mature soon.
Brandon is an undergraduate student with no online presence whatsoever. He’ll start up a webcomic eventually, though. How’s that for dedication?
My life is like a bowl of oatmeal. It’s bland, grey, and kind of lumpy, only becoming bearable when I pile on the brown sugar.
Unlike the rest, the “brown sugar” part isn’t a metaphor. I crave the stuff constantly, by the bowlful.
Ironically, I’m kind of a bitter person.
This story is based on a title suggested by @cthomlan.
“Hello?”
“Hey man.” I could hear Marv’s half-baked grin through the phone.
I sighed. “Fall off the wagon again?”
“Kinda! I’m still sober, but I broke my hip falling off a hay ride, and I’m suing big! Awesome, eh? Gonna miss some meetings.”
Being Marv’s sponsor drove me to drink.
This story was based on the TypeTrigger prompt “falling off the.”
“It’s a sand witch!” I shouted. “Run!”
My warning came too late. She caught us in her magical snares and turned us into camels.
It took three years to escape, and two more to find a wizard who could change us back. On the upside, I kept the water retention.
This story was based on the TypeTrigger prompt “it’s a sandwich.”
“You and me, we’re flanking, right?”
“I thought we were the vanguard.”
“What’s a vanguard?”
“The guys at the front, I think.”
“Aren’t those the shock troopers?”
“Only if they’re charging ahead and catching the enemy by surprise.”
“Like a blitzkrieg?”
“Sort of.”
“These water fights have gotten really complicated.”
This story was based on the TypeTrigger prompt “and me.”
Jordan finished the meal he requested, and set aside his dessert—cherry pie—so he could finish it later.
The cell guard turned to the warden and said, “I thought prisoners couldn’t be executed if they didn’t know what was happening to ’em.”
“So much for theory,” the warden sneered.
Adam Sprague’s work can be found in 365Tomorrows magazine. For more information check out his site.
On Christmas Eve, a young lad wandered the streets of New York. He was well dressed, only because he knew how to care for what few possessions he had.
People asked for money and he refused politely but still earned glares.
Instead, he used his pennies for a birthday candle.
Jeremy Quinn hopes to write more in the future, but for now resigns himself to doing the occasional Pokémon fanfiction.
In a secret room, a sinister cabal meets. The men there share a common goal, one they’ve had since childhood.
Among charts of rising temperatures and shrinking Arctic ice, they talk of proving what the non-believers denied.
Maps of the North Pole lie circled.
Operation: Flush Out Santa nears completion.
Cole Grinnell is a scientist, writer, and actor who works, when he works, out of Baltimore, Maryland. He should have a blog, but strangely, he doesn’t.
“What are you making today, Geraldo?”
“My friend, I have many creations! Witness my self-baking bread, and these gingerbread men dance and sing! Marvelous, no?”
“Truly, but all I wish for are some buns to eat with my soup.”
“How sad,” said Geraldo, “that we live in such a world.”
This story is based on a title suggested by @Zutzy.