Ploughing, seeding, threshing, baling…
To Farmer Bucket, the unceasing cycle felt like being caught in a tumble dryer that reeked of diesel and hay.
But once a month, he went to the coffee shop and people-watched, gathering observations for his research.
Farmer Bucket was very passionate about his field work.
“What portion of his schooling is your young son attending, Holmes?
“How would you describe hydrogen, oxygen, and carbon, Holmes?
“What do you call it when men shaped liked the letter preceding ‘M’ linger after an event, Holmes?”
After many years, Watson had grown very tired of Sherlock Holmes’ catchphrase.
This story is based on a title suggested by Matthew Ryper via Facebook.
The care-free matador brought work home with him, dodging bulls by night and sidestepping commitments and responsibilities by day.
The stolid yodeler brought work home with her, bellowing music by day and shouting judgments and criticisms by night.
He reminded her of a song.
She reminded him of a cow.
This story is based on a title created by my sister, Lisa, while playing a microfiction party game that I will share via this site at some point in the future.
Molly slipped into the icy water, her eyes closing with a steely resolve.
No more would they bully or call her names. She’d had enough.
A note and her diary sat on the counter.
Her parents turned her sad tale into a bestselling novel. It’s true: money heals all wounds.
Nancy A. Cavanaugh is a freelance writer living in Keene, NH. You can read her flash and micro fiction at myflashywords.blogspot.com.
There are 50 unitalicized words in this story, not including line numbers. The italicized words are instructions: you may choose one option and go to the appropriate line to continue your adventure!
Have fun!
1.You’re in a boat.
Line 2: Jump out.
Line 3: Eat lunch.
Line 4: Raise pirate flag.
2. You’re swimming.
Line 1: Get in the boat.
Line 5: Eat lunch.
Line 6: Dive.
3. Yum! Now you’re full.
Go to Line 1.
4. You’re in a fearsome pirate boat.
Line 2: Jump out.
Line 7: Attack a freighter.
5. Soggy food! Yuck.
Go to Line 2.
6. You’re on the ocean floor.
Line 2: Swim upwards.
Line 8: Attack a freighter.
Line 9: Explore.
7. A lubber lops off your hand.
Line 10: Staunch the bleeding.
Line 11: Shoot the lubber.
8. You are chopped up by the freighter’s propeller.
The End
9. You drown.
The End
10. While bandaging yourself, you are shot.
The End
11. You bleed to death.
The End
“Grapplin’ hooks, skeleton keys, guard uniforms… I got everythin’ you need, man.”
“You charge a lot, Skivvy.”
“It ain’t easy to get stuff like this into my cell.”
“True dat.”
“But let me tell you, gettin’ nabbed for murder’s the most profitable thing I ever done. I’m makin’ a killing!”
An apple and a pear fell in love.
They knew it was unusual, but they wanted to make it work, and the wise old hummingbird knew how they could.
They scattered their seeds all around the orchard, and when the trees grew they grafted branches onto one another and lived forever.
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.
Because I am an angel, you said you believed in them, and so I believed in you.
Yet here at the door of death who should come for you but Him.
The light of your love for me outshone the darkness in your soul.
And for that we are doomed.
Editor’s Note: This story grows on me a little more each time I read it, as I start to tease out more meaning from each sentence. At first it was an enigma, and now I find it appealingly haunting. I recommend coming back for a repeated read later, so you have time to explore and digest it.
Tammy’s poem “Twas the Night Before Blood Moon” will be published in Pill Hill Press’s Leap Year Edition of Daily Flash 2012: 366 Days of Flash Fiction, and she is a proud mother whose son is the joy and light of her life.