Mister Adolphus Finnegan was a pleasant chap, if a little seclusive. His daily forest-path meanderings were routed so as to minimize chance meetings with other meanderers. He called these his “refreshing ambulations”, and continued them well into his elderhood.
He lived a long, well-refreshed, pleasant, but secluded kind of life.
This story was based on a title provided by @Keab42.
The ghostly spectre silhouetted against the dark window sighed, the symptom of Death’s long-suffering passion.
Inside, cold breaths rattled through the lungs of Enid Westerhapf, 112 years old and at long last preparing to die.
Having awaited her for so long, Death finally welcomed her to stand by his side.
This story was based on a title provided by Master Gunner.
Tim and Kate had an unemotional relationship. They both used each other for convenience.
One day during an encounter when Tim was taking advantage of Kate his heart failed. She felt no emotion. In his wallet she found $3,000.00.
She kept it but gave the church a donation on Sunday.
Pat St. Pierre has been writing poetry, fiction, and nonfiction since her college days. She tries to capture small vignettes of life and turn them into poems. Her 2nd published chapbook “Theater of Life” by Finishing Line Press contains such poems. Her fiction has been published in many places: Dew on the Kudzu, Fiction 365, Daily Love, Joyful, A Long Story Short, etc. She also has a love of photography and can be seen carrying her camera wherever she goes. She takes photos and then tries write her titles which also describe “snapshots” of everyday occurrences. Some of her photos can be viewed at: Ken*Again, Ramshackle Review, Pond Ripples, The Shine, The Camel Saloon, A Days Encounter, etc. She considers herself a literary “jack of all trades” and thoroughly enjoys what she does. Her blog is www.pstpierre.wordpress.com
“So you say you gave birth to a… dinosaur.”
“Yes, doctor.”
“And that’s him, there? He looks quite normal to me.”
“He’s a dinosaur, really!”
“Well, if he is a dinosaur, when I place my finger in his mouth he should—HE BIT MY HAND OFF!!”
“I told you so.”
This was story was based on a title suggested by @Keab42.
“You look terrific,” she told him. “Fantastic, even.”
“You know,” he said, “I *feel* fantastic. Maybe even marvelous!”
“Whoa, hold on. I don’t know about marvelous… Fantastic is one thing. Marvelous is something else entirely.”
“Oh.” He shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Well how about… wonderful?”
“Sure, I’ll give you wonderful.”
This story was based on the prompt “fantastic” at TypeTrigger.
Clarence played his brand new clarinet very loud: Phweeee!!
It made his little sister angry, so he played it even louder: PHWEEEEEE!!!
In a puff of orange smoke, a genie appeared. It said, “I’ll grant you two wishes.”
Clarence wished for an even louder clarinet, and a pair of earplugs.
Rancid breath washed over him, spilling out from behind a mouthful of long, sharp, yellow teeth.
How had he ended up here, with his head halfway down a lion’s throat? “Exciting Opportunity,” they’d called it. “The Adventure of a Lifetime.”
He sighed wretchedly and gathered a long string of floss.
This story was based on the prompt “yellow teeth” at TypeTrigger.
“Woah, what’s that?”
“A titan of eternal torment and fire, birthed from the maw of hell, knowing nothing of love or life, seeking only the end of all that has ever been and ever will be?”
“Yeah, but how did it get here?”
“You forgot to shut the door, Einstein.”
Brandon King is a volunteer for Leading Edge Magazine, an awesome sci-fi/fantasy publication that will publish and/or edit your short stories, poems, or artwork.
“Come away with me, my darling!”
“Oh, my dear, I thought you’d never ask! Where shall we go?”
“It doesn’t matter where we go, does it, my dove?”
“No, truly it doesn’t, so long as we’re together…”
She felt differently upon their arrival at his cottage behind the garbage dump.
This story was based on the prompt “away with me” at TypeTrigger.
Atop the lighthouse he gazed to sea, proud, lonely, his pitted face protected from wind-whipped raindrops by a knotted, salt-caked beard.
The barber had offered a free shave, but who’d ever heard of a beardless lighthouse keeper?
He didn’t realize… It was his own lighthouse, broadcasting to all, “Steer clear!”
This story was based on the prompt “lighthouse” at TypeTrigger.