Thrashing through the midnight darkness,
he stumbled
but did not cry out.
Silently he lay
listening to silence.
Then he fumbled
in his pocket
for a match.
In the flame’s flickering glow, he was struck
by irony
and the traitor’s arrow.
He had assumed
he would die
by the sword.
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.
A bubbling creek wended its way through the sun-dappled wood, between the wild apple trees and the bushes drooping with juicy purple berries.
An inquisitive fawn dipped its tongue into the creek and pulled away with a frightened bleat.
Upstream, where the beavers built and warred, the bricked-in bayou boiled.
It made me mad that I couldn’t hide my sadness from them.
As the sun transformed my smile and let me age prematurely, I couldn’t forgive them for already moving on.
My last thought when my coal eyes hit the ground? “You little rascals will know the feeling soon enough!”
Originally from Germany, Tine moved to California about a year ago. Since then she has become a full-time mom taking care of a four-year-old chatterbox, which makes the fifty-word story a perfect format for her.
Rudolf hopped on one foot, pirouetted, leapt to and fro, wiggled his hips, do-si-doed, executed a graceful plie, moonwalked, discoed, waltzed, two-stepped, wriggled like a worm, jigged like a hillbilly, and slapped his knees, but no matter what he did, it kept snowing.
Apparently he wasn’t a raindeer after all.
There was a man at the corner with one third of a hat and half a pair of shoes. I offered him my boots. He sold them to a homeless guy for ten bucks and gave the money to a woman at a bus stop.
I really liked those boots…
Alternate Version:
He stood there on the corner, with tattered hat and coat. His backpack overflowed with toys that he was handing out.
His shoes were only halfers: they covered just his heels. I offered mine, but he declined, ungrateful little eel.
He made me feel guilty, and guilt is not genteel.
This story, and the supplementary poem, were inspired by a title suggested by @hexapodium.
I want to eat my flatmate
I think he knows it, too
He watches me suspiciously
Whenever we buy food
It’s happening tomorrow
I’m going to boil his head
Wait: is this a man-shaped pan
Hidden beneath his bed?
I want to eat my flatmate
He may eat me instead
This story/poem is based on a title suggested by @big_poppa_G.
“Oh man, I am in so much trouble,” he gasped.
He thought he’d slept in past his wedding ceremony. It was the worst feeling of his life.
“Don’t worry,” said his fiancée when he called her. “You didn’t ruin the wedding. I found a replacement groom. You’re off the hook.”
You tell me that I’ve changed,
My priorities rearranged.
Did you ever really know me
At all?
It’s been a long time
Since you swept me off my feet.
But I won’t admit defeat.
I have faith enough for both of us.
That’s the one thing that’s never changed
At all.
J Dianne Waye found a link to Fifty-Word Stories on Kelley Armstrong’s writing forum. She isn’t the first to submit a story because of that link, and hopefully she won’t be the last!