Johnny blamed the milkman.
“Why would the milkman steal the last jug of milk out of our fridge?” said mom. “He has so much of his own in his truck!”
“He’s greedy. He wants it all for himself.”
“Honey, that’s–”
“GIVE ME ALL YOUR MILK!!” cried the Malevolent Milkman. “NOW!!”
A reader sent me this, and I thought it was too clever not to share. Thanks, Hugh3s!
Hi Tim,
I found your site, “Fifty Word Stories,” and found it interesting. With a few weeks of no updates, I was depressed to find that you were on hiatus.
So I decided to write a fifty-word story instead. I sat down at my computer and came up with nothing…
In case you don’t know what I found so great about it, count the words (as if you should have to do that with anything on this site).
He had just suffered the most devastating defeat of his entire career, maybe even his entire life.
“That’s it,” he muttered. “I’m quitting. This is no good.”
An ethereal meerkat blinked into existence in front of him. “You can’t quit!” it said. “I’m a meerkat!”
“Why not?” he protested.
“Meeeeerkaaaat!”
Fleeing my prison, driven by the hunger, I found my victim. I struck. His blood flowed. The hunger was satiated, but then: panic.
The body was stuck on my tusks, and my flippers were too short to remove it.
The zookeepers apprehended me, ending the reign of Chumley, Vampire Walrus.
Josh Anderson is an amateur filmmaker and writer from Lubbock, Texas.
This was it.
He knew the odds. They were forty-to-one. But he didn’t care about the odds. This was destiny.
“I don’t care about the odds,” he said aloud. “Screw the odds.”
“You should probably care about the odds,” said the hatchet-faced man holding the bag full of coloured balls.
I see you smile at the gift he sent you.
It’s dead, you know.
Smile, as you care tenderly for it. All the care you lavish on his tribute won’t make it last. Won’t stop the smooth, slippery red from drying to a lusterless, coppery brown. Smile for your rose.
Katie is a young woman in college.
He won the gold medal with his eyes closed.
He’d never been much good at anything in his life, but the first time he found himself sliding down the icy, open-faced track he knew he’d found his place.
Speed. Freedom. Exhilaration. Bliss.
He was the Naked Sledless Luge Olympic Champion.
“Milk.”
“Milk?”
“The milkiest. From cows.”
“From cows?”
“The cowiest. Fat cows.”
“Fat cows?”
“The fattiest. They eat at McDonald’s.”
“They eat at McDonald’s?”
“The McDonald’siest. But only on weekends.”
“Only on weekends?”
“The weekendiest. They’re the farmer’s days off.”
“The farmer’s days off?”
“His offiest. He usually–”
“Wait… What!?”
“Have you seen my wallet?”
“No, honey, and stop trying to change the subject. Just tell me… Does this dress make me look fat?”
“I would never tell you a dress made you look fat. You’re beautiful.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet.”
“The other dress makes you look very trim, though.”
“Luke, I’m your father!” said Luke’s father.
“That stopped being funny when I was in fifth grade,” said Luke.
“Join me on the dark side!”
“Nah, I think I’ll play on the light team this week.”
It hadn’t taken many pick-up soccer games for Luke to start wearing white t-shirts.