Melinda was a contrarian: she even became a tomboy just to prove the midwife wrong.
She was an anti-Earth activist, campaigning against her parents’ environmental research. Her slogan was “Green thumb; grass knuckles.”
They told her punching the ground didn’t actually hurt Mother Nature, which made her hit it harder.
This story is based on a title suggested by @KingKool.
Poor Jack.
Sweet, but a little dull. He liked YouTube and drawing crazy stuff; could have been an artist if it weren’t for me.
We thought the food of the gods was cute stuff like ambrosia. It’s not. I ate Jack. Not all of him, just that bloody, soppy heart.
Claire Martin is an almost-graduate student who must get a job, or learn to eat dust.
Kevin, like most men, tended to measure himself by his accomplishments. That was why he worked so hard to get his picture up on the wall at Mister Meatmouth’s Restaurant.
“I ate it all,” he told his friends, “in one sitting.” They respected him for that.
Inexplicably, most women didn’t.
This story is based on a title suggested by @KittyCatalyst.
For the Dying Race, there is no place,
In worlds of field or forest
For that breed, there is no need
There is no hope of trying.
Yet hope remains, that hope’s campaigns
Will break those chains
And overcome reigns
Of races better fit.
Do not outsource.
Stay the course.
Bobby Langhorne is a programmer and a wishful storyteller.
One day Bruce Wayne brought Dick Grayson to the Gotham City Zoo.
While they were there, they got caught up in, and foiled, a mobster’s nefarious mammal-smuggling scheme.
“This city is full of animals,” said Batman.
It was that kind of writing that threatened to kill the comic book industry.
This story is based on a title suggested by @Wear_Wolf.
Why’d you do it?
I didn’t do it!
Three people say they saw you do it.
They lied! All four of them!
Three.
Oh, yeah, three.
You confessed to the arresting officer that you did it.
All cops are liars.
Suppose you could do it again. Would you?
Well, sure.
Richard Pannbacker is a retired biochemist/teacher/sheepfarmer living in Manhattan, Kansas. He is the winner of the 22nd Annual “Kansas Voices” fiction contest and has had stories accepted by Fifty-Word Stories, The Bad Futurist, Daily Flash: 2012, Subtle Fiction, Writers Amuse Me and The Right-Eyed Deer.
Milt wasn’t wearing any pants.
“Hey,” said a guy walking by. “Why aren’t you wearing any pants?”
“Didn’t you know?” Milt said. “It’s no-pants o’clock!”
The guy scrunched up his face. “Is that some kind of joke?” he said.
“Nope!” said Milt.
So the guy took his pants off, too.
President Papi Kinsley rocked his wife, whispering, “You’re safe now.”
When she was asleep, Papi went downstairs. Zombie bodies were everywhere. He called Lord Zombino.
“I guess you didn’t know I’m a member of EZKIL, otherwise known as the Elite Zombie Killing International League,” Papi said. “Better luck next time.”
Nancy A. Cavanaugh is a freelance writer living in Keene, NH. You can read her flash and micro fiction at myflashywords.blogspot.com.
“Grumble mumble.”
“Pardon me?” said Ms. Jane.
“Mumble grumble.”
“Do speak up, dear,” said Ms. Jane.
“Grr rumble mumbly.”
“Really, it’s very rude to mumble like that,” said Ms. Jane. “You’ve been raised to know better!”
But Ms. Jane’s stomach, it turned out, was a very poor student of etiquette.
War was tough, and we had grown soft. The killing proved too much, and so we did the only logical thing. Create two opposing supercomputers to simulate everything for us.
Except they realised the solution faster than we could imagine, and then it was no longer a simulation. We’d lost.
Nathan Barber is a student currently studying nuclear engineering. Most people who know him well find his choice of study material slightly unnerving given his eagerness to capture the essence of a ‘mad scientist.’