The Spring Break couple giggled and splashed and did other adorable things until I came into view.
The girl shrieked. The boy darted toward me. I acted in self-defense.
Now, chewing on their limbs, I cannot stop crying. Sure, I am an old, ugly crocodile, but I do have feelings.
Olga Klezovitch is a scientist who lives in Seattle. This is her second appearance in 50-Word Stories.
Our home faces Bayou St. Moss.
Albert, an eighteen-foot croc, likes to haul out onto our front lawn and sun himself there.
Our mail and newspapers are delivered to the post office downtown. Our last visitors were the Bartle boys, who tried to prank us on Halloween three years ago.
Joe Malone is living in a mud hut in South Sudan. Read more from him at joem18b.wordpress.com.
When Camille cried her crocodile tears and sang her songs of woe, it wasn’t really because she was lonely or sad. It was actually because she was a very dramatic crocodile, and she knew that great actresses could convey real emotion, so she was practicing.
That’s what she told herself.
This story is based on a title suggested by @Jesstrel.
After being married for thirty years he thought he’d pretty much figured her out, but when she came home with a baby crocodile for Christmas he realized she was as beautifully, wonderfully mysterious to him now as she always had been, which wasn’t much consolation when it ate the dog.
Crankfurt the Crocodile was a very good wallower. Sometimes he wallowed in the mud. Sometimes he wallowed in the swamp. Sometimes he even wallowed in the dust.
At the Mammal Wallowing Championships, Crankfurt was disqualified because of his decidedly non-mammalian crocodility. That was where he learned to wallow in despair.
No one in Joel’s family knew the difference between alligators and crocodiles, so he decided to find out for himself.
Joel stalked Florida’s swamps, taking pictures and making notes. After several long, hard weeks, he had his answer:
The alligators liked eating his legs, while the crocodiles preferred his arms.