He couldn’t hear his wife because of his headphones. Just the way he wanted it. He nodded; pretended he could hear; looked contrite, apologetic, regretful…
She smiled, mouthed “Thank you,” and left to run errands. He had escaped the encounter unchastised.
Thirty minutes later, he smelled his birthday cake burning.
This story was based on the prompt “headphones” at TypeTrigger.
“Today I’m a veritable wellspring of joy and enthusiasm! Let’s go make the world a better place!”
“It’s raining.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“My clothes are all dirty.”
“The rain will wash the ones you’re wearing.”
“I’ll never be younger than I am today.”
“…Wanna stay in and order Chinese?”
“Yes, please.”
This story was based on the prompt “wellspring” at TypeTrigger.
She dieted for three weeks; avoided all soft drinks, steered clear of pie and ice cream. She ate salad for breakfast, lunch, and dinner; consumed plain yogurt by the quart; and drank green tea.
Now she stood on the scale. Weight loss: one pound.
The chocolate melted in her mouth.
Joanna M. Weston has had poetry, reviews, and short stories published in anthologies and journals for twenty-five years. Her middle-reader, ‘Those Blue Shoes’, was published by Clarity House Press, and her poetry, ‘A Summer Father’, was published by Frontenac House of Calgary. Her eBook, ‘The Willow Tree Girl’, is available at her blog or http://smashwords.com/b/137826.
“No, sir,” said she, sincere as can be, “I never did ignite this fire!”
“Listen well, girl,” answered Inspector Earl, “I half suspect you are a liar!”
“Suspicions of arson?” inquired the parson, obsequious, timid, subdued.
“Indeed,” replied Earl, “though, no, not the girl… The arsonist, sir; it was you!”
This poem was based on the prompt “this fire” at TypeTrigger.
In a movie I saw as a boy, there was a mystical cave hidden behind a waterfall. I remember how eagerly I quested that summer, how I found nothing but slippery rock faces.
Lying here, cold and tired, I sometimes wonder… What would I have found behind the next one?
This story was based on the prompt “waterfall” at TypeTrigger.
Her fingers and toes were short, like she was, but she grew her hair extra long to make up for it.
She was terrible at English, but always did great in Biology.
Her vision was 20/10, but she was red-green colour blind.
An average girl? Well, maybe in the mathematical sense…
Vee wore a flimsy veil from a costume store, and Mommy’s 15-year-old prom dress.
Scottie wore 80s sunglasses and a plaid hunting cap.
As they struggled through their “vows”, my wife and I held hands behind our backs.
I smiled almost as much at that “wedding” as at my own.
This story was based on the prompt “hunting cap” at TypeTrigger.
“This looks too easy,” he thought as he descended to the display on a rope.
It was easy. The glass lid had no trigger. There were no laser trip wires, not even a lock.
He snatched the gem, ascended to the window, and escaped.
Too bad it was a fake.
Sean Quigley also goes by “Posh Platypus.” Follow him on Twitter: @PoshPlatypus.
When we met, I liked your bright rain boots and your shy little smile, so I never told you that you weren’t actually the woman the missed connections ad had been intended for. And by the time I kissed you, coffee breath and all, it no longer seemed to matter.
Karen Gilmore struggles with brevity. Her writing has appeared in The Globe and Mail and McSweeney’s Internet Tendency.
When the new girl entered, my face was covered in slugs.
I’d done it to get Kayley’s attention, and she was suitably grossed out, but as soon as I saw the new girl, Kayley didn’t matter.
By then, unfortunately, it was too late.
I live alone, now, with my slugs.
I imagine this as the origin story for some tragic antihero…