A pauper found a bronze oil lamp. He rubbed it and a beautiful genie emerged from a cloud of pink smoke.
“For releasing me, I shall reward you one wish,” she said.
“I wish to live a very long time,” he said.
So she transformed him into an oak tree.
This is the first in a series of stories from King Kool, who has previously contributed multiple other series.
I sit and I weep.
I used to be free. The faces gawp at me during the day, while at night I’m observed by darkness. I grow tired of my life, but they keep me alive to watch my suffering.
Outside, the signpost reads “Tiger: The Last of its Kind.”
Adam Baker entered this story into a 50-word story competition for school. He doesn’t know the result yet, but he got it posted here, if nothing else!
“Blow out the candles, Fraser! Yay!”
Fraser Wendel Summers shook his chubby hands in delight. Two years old!
He’d been born February 22, 2009, but had taken an “aging break” in the spring of 2010. He hadn’t liked having a February birthday.
July wasn’t his favourite, either. Next time he’d aim for August.
His initials are FWS. Get it? Get it!?
It’s been a great two years. Thank you to everyone who’s been reading my stories and sending in submissions of their own! You all deserve some birthday cake, courtesy of my wife and me.
I’m really looking forward to recharging for Year Three, which I’m planning to start on August 1, 2011. Until then, enjoy some more great guest stories.
When the Stevestons throw a party, they go all out. Balloons. Streamers. Karaoke. Tiki torches. Pony rides. Fireworks. Food from every imaginable ethnicity, and then some.
And giant cupcakes. Car-sized cupcakes.
Or so they claim. They’ve been living here for ten years, and still haven’t found a reason to celebrate.
“Why so glum?” my old buddy asked.
“I’m getting married tomorrow,” I said.
“You don’t seem too happy about it,” he said.
I just shrugged.
“C’mon,” he said, “pack a bag. We’ll hop a Greyhound and spend a few days in Vegas.”
Now I have to live with the consequences.
Alex Markovich started writing fiction late in life. He’s 76. He also wrote You Promised.
Modest Maude was a very proper woman.
No one had ever seen so much as Maude’s ankles or wrists, not even her doctor.
She had married a blind man, and still made him keep his eyes closed while she was getting undressed.
But her laughter made the stars come out.
“What do you think?”
“There are definitely ghosts in this house,” the second said.
“It is haunted, for sure,” the first said.
“Let’s get out of here,” the second said.
“Where shall we go?” the first asked.
“To a place that is not haunted,” the second said. “I hate crowds.”
Martin Jaeger has been published or is soon to be published in several print and online magazines. He tries to create imaginative pieces that will intrigue the reader, who will then have a greater appreciation for writers.
The day before yesterday, I was flying high. I had the tiger by the tail.
Yesterday, I crash landed. The tiger turned on me.
Today, I’ve got my feet on the ground. I’m looking the tiger in the eye. The world is my oyster: I’m putting on my water wings.
This story is based on a title suggested by @RubyCosmos.
Like clockwork, he’d get up at 6:00 AM and get ready for work.
Immediately, the maid who knew her secret scurried into the room to help her choose her costume for the day. Then she, too, went to work.
Imagine their surprise when their eyes met: a client, and a provider.
Tanja lives in Malta, Europe, with her husband and three children. She freelances for print and online media in Maltese and English.
Melinda was a contrarian: she even became a tomboy just to prove the midwife wrong.
She was an anti-Earth activist, campaigning against her parents’ environmental research. Her slogan was “Green thumb; grass knuckles.”
They told her punching the ground didn’t actually hurt Mother Nature, which made her hit it harder.
This story is based on a title suggested by @KingKool.