Mr. X lived seven lives, one for each day of the week.
Monday, he was a fisherman.
Tuesday, he was a chef.
Wednesday, he was a restaurant critic.
Thursday, he worked in sewage treatment.
Friday, he studied marine ecology.
Saturday, he went scuba diving.
Sunday, he was a Pacific Cod.
This story was based on a title suggested by @vxicepickxv.
Milos wanted to stand out, to be remembered.
As he wheeled the life-sized, entirely edible cake replica of himself into the room, he knew he had succeeded.
Every member of the cannibal collective oohed and aahed.
“The volunteer provides dessert, right?” Milos beamed. “Now you get to eat me twice!”
I’ve been receiving lots of great submissions over the past few weeks, and I like to do my best to get every good story onto the site at some point. Until now, whenever I’ve had “too many” submissions, there has always come a time when submissions were sparse for a while, so I could use up the backlog. But my inbox is overflowing!
So starting on Monday, May 30, and continuing until Friday, July 1, I will be posting a guest submission every weekday, alongside my own daily stories.
That’s right: for the next month+, you’ll be getting two stories to read every weekday!
By the way, just because I have a lot of submissions doesn’t mean I’m not looking for more. I’m always happy to receive more guest stories.
“Papa Panda! Papa Panda!”
There it went again.
“Papa Panda!”
It was incessant, unceasing, never-ending. (Synonyms were one of Papa Panda’s few pleasures.)
Papa Panda rolled over, half-opened one eye, and gestured impatiently at the annoying, agitating throng.
The tourists roared with glee.
Papa Panda found zoo life emotionally taxing.
One day an evil wizard turned a lizard into a goat. “I am the evilest of wizards!” he said. Then the goat kicked him. He turned it back into a lizard so it couldn’t kick him again. Then the real evilest wizard sued him for misusing the Evilest Wizard trademark.
It seemed like they were made for each other, the boy and his elephant.
They ate, played, and slept together. They worked, lazed about, and made friends together.
They rode on each other’s backs and washed one another with their trunks.
They were almost indistinguishable, the elephant and his boy.
This story is based on a title suggested by @salmir.
“Will she be faithful? I must find out.”
“I can divine the future from anything you own – pass me that jug from your breakfast table.”
“Whoops! Sorry! Thought it was empty…”
“Idiot! Your fate cannot now be foreseen.”
“Why?”
“All men know: there’s no use scrying over spilled milk.”
Nick Johns lives in Sandhurst, UK. A retired cat wrestler, he now breeds mongrel flash fictions for release into the wild.
“How will the end begin?” my daughter asked me one night. “And I don’t want you make any jokes about the letters ‘T’ and ‘H’ or tell me I’ll find out when I’m older or change the subject!”
Just then, a billion trumpets sounded.
“Whoa,” she said. “Never mind, daddy.”
This story is based on a title suggested by @stealingzen.
She stood at my door
one black glove, one red
and a lacy half-veil
Good evening, ma’am
icily
I didn’t want what she was selling
but my kids did
Of course, they hadn’t heard
the asking price
the surcharges
the cost-to-benefit ratios
Just the allure
the affect
I’ve been there
This story is based on the prompt “one black glove, one red,” suggested by @big_poppa_G.
Editor’s Note: for clearest interpretation, read affect as a noun, which has been, lately, one of my favourite words.
Sunsy was a real chirp flirt. He went after anyone who had wings and a beak and laid eggs.
The dove turned him down gently.
The owl lectured him on Breed Loyalty.
The eagle just stared imperiously until he went away.
The peahen merely scoffed.
And then the pigeon attacked.
This story is based on a title suggested by @Vigafray and a prompt offered by @NekoDaimyo.