“What’s Necromantic Fasciitism?” asked Cliven. “And how did Nogard get it?”
“It’s a terrible curse!” said the Veterinary Cleric. “It can’t be stopped! Over the next few days, this little guy will turn into…”
“Into what!?”
“Into… a zombie dragon,” said the Cleric, shuddering. “We have to kill him now!”
Honk! Honk!
“I really hate traffic,” complained Gary. “Why do things always get so congested and chaotic?”
“What we need is a new system,” said Gordon. “New leadership.”
“Well,” said Gary, “it might as well be me.”
Gary pressed forward and took the lead of the flock’s migratory Vee formation.
Two men ran for the exit.
“Wait!” said Edgelow. “We can’t leave yet.”
“It’s gonna blow!” cried Thicke.
“Wait…” said Edgelow. “Three, two…”
He kicked the doors open, grabbed Thicke by the arm, and leapt.
The building exploded. As they flew through the air, Edgelow mugged for the watching cameras.
“Wow, that thing’s huge!”
“It’s my latest invention!”
“Very cool.”
“I’m really proud of it. It can burn almost anything as a fuel source. Gas, wood, flour, cigarette butts, human flesh…”
“How about this mud?”
“It’ll run on mud, yep.”
“That’s so awesome. What does it do?”
“…It burns things.”
Editor’s Note: This story is based on a call on Twitter for a noun, an adjective, and a verb. @mochrie_rocks responded with mud, huge, and run.
When Madelyn was a newborn she would wake up. I’d get up with her to let Mom sleep and we’d hang out. Late one night the CBC showed a documentary which I believe will be her future. Synchronized Swimming. I always wondered how someone got their kids into bizarre sports.
Today’s second Guest Writer story is from Jeremy Baker, a music enthusiast and radio host. He writes about life and music on his blog, The Morning After, where he also hosts a podcast called Capital Rock City.
This story was originally posted here.
Swirls. They looked like galaxies. Far away galaxies, of which he was the creator, forming them with his almighty touch. With the same amount of ease, they dissolved, their form vanishing into the next creation. What power, to control worlds with such grace.
He realized his coffee was now cold.
BCTurk is an aspiring short film director/producer and video editor. You can find his work at http://www.youtube.com/BCTurk.
He poured concrete. He laid bricks. He hammered nails into wood.
He stapled tar paper. He put up siding. He packed insulation into the walls.
He spread out shingles. He rented a truck. He carried boxes. He painted. He assembled furniture.
Then his wife walked out.
He sold the house.
With feline grace, the household predator crept to the base of the table. Above, her prey slept, carefree.
With two quick hops, it was all over.
The cat smiled to herself through a crunchy mouthful of cat food. Yep, she still had it.
Her next sneak attack victim? The litterbox!
The veterinary Cleric plopped Nogard down on a padded examination table. He poked and prodded at the dragon for a few minutes.
“Hmm,” he said. “Oh my,” he said. “This is not good,” he said.
“What is it?” asked Cliven.
“This isn’t mange; it’s an advanced case of Necromantic Fasciitism!”
“Welcome to third grade!” said Miss Flannerty. “Let’s get to know one another! Tell me your name and your favourite drink!”
Billy and Bobby and Suzie liked apple juice and iced tea and Kool-Aid.
“That’s great!” said Miss Flannerty. “My name is Karen, and I like absinthe! Taste test, anyone?”