Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Vampires vs. Zombies

          “That’s enough of that!” Alison Higley thumbed the remote and turned off the TV.    
        “What didja do that for, Mom?” Jayden asked. He lay on the floor with his head propped on a couch pillow.
        She reached for her ipad. “I don’t want you to watch zombies.”
        “They’re funny. All the kids watch this show.”
         “Zombies are disgusting.” She swiped the screen.
        “You watch vampires.”
        “They’re different.”
        “They drink blood. Yuck!”
        She looked at her son. “Zombies eat brains. They’ve done frightful things.”
         “Zombies are make-believe.”
        She laughed. “And vampires aren’t?”
        “Justin Bieber’s a vampire. You said he sucked.”

Let’s read what the others wrote with this prompt:

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Scientific Excuse

        The men in white lab coats crowded around Jeremy, peering over his shoulders at the computer screen.
        He sat with itchy fingers on the mouse. “It’s bad,” he said. “The data doesn’t prove our theory.”
        One of the scientists adjusted his glasses. “It worked the last time. What should we do?”
        “We’ll lose funding,” another man said. “There goes my job.”
        “It’s a simple fix,” Jeremy said. He pressed delete.
        “What did you just do?”
        “The data’s gone. A computer malfunction. We’ll have to start over.”
        “That’s unethical.”
        Jeremy smiled. “If we stick to the story, they can’t prove anything.” 

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Loud Mouth

This flash fiction is a little late. The prompt: It was as if she didn't understand the concept of "shut up."

        The zookeeper’s day began before dawn, but the birds were already active in the free-flight aviary. Blue and gold macaws, bright yellow parakeets, and white cockatoos darted among the branches. The loudest bird was Gabby, a green Amazon parrot.
        She had become the zookeeper’s favorite, squawking to greet him each morning.
         “Shut up!” he’d yell.
        And she answered back, “Shut up!” It was as if she didn’t understand the concept of “shut up.”
        This morning the zookeeper had woken up with a headache. He yelled, “Be quiet!” and waited, expecting Gabby to mimic his words.
        Finally, she answered, “Shut up!”

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Happy Birthday, Dennis!

What is flash fiction? A piece of fiction that is extremely brief, typically only a few hundred words or less.
The prompt: His car was crawling quietly along the street

        Dennis staggered of the pub, singing “When Irish Eyes are Smiling”. It was four in the morning. The street was dark. Dennis tripped and fell into the gutter. He vomited, wiped his filthy mouth with the back of his hand, and got up on his knees.
         The ground was spinning. The streetlights swayed. His car was crawling quietly along the street. “The Banshee’s have come for me,” he cried.
        Suddenly, someone yanked him up by the collar. “Been drinking tonight, hey Dennis?” the policeman asked.
        “Celebrating my birthday, I was.”
        The policeman laughed. “You’re going to celebrate in the cooler.”

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

Tell Us a Story, Alice!

“Let the party begin.” The Mad Hatter grinned as he poured tea in Alice’s cup. “Tell us a story.”
        She took a biscuit. “I’m afraid I don’t know one.”
        “Off with her head,” the March Hare said.
        “How dreadfully savage!” She glanced over at the Doormouse. “Your friend is asleep.”
        The Hatter poured tea on the Doormouse’s nose.
        It shook its head and said, “Tell us a story.”
        She began: “Once there was a White Rabbit.”
        ”White Rabbit?” The Hatter frowned. “It seems to me, we had something to do immediately, or just after dessert, I can’t quite remember now.”

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Don't Touch!

        It was the trip of my dreams. One more off my bucket list. It’s gorgeous and green, the land of potatoes and castles. I’d already toured several, but this one was different. Tourists were able to touch the tapestries, sit on chairs, even lie on the beds.
        I stood in the kitchen fascinated with the assortment of pots and cauldrons. One large iron pot in particular. What had they cooked in it? As I put my hand on the handle, I was transported back hundreds of years. I smelled trouble and looked in the pot.
        The porridge had burned.

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

The Rules

        Wendy served drinks at Joe’s Place. It paid well. She could work nights while her husband stayed home with the kids. She’d learned to fend off the flirts, but the part of her job she most hated was cutting off the drunks.
        Jim Duncan had reached his limit tonight. He slurred his words as he asked for another beer.        
        “You’re 86’d,” Wendy said, placing his glass on the tray. “Go home.”
        He stood, wobbly on his feet. “Get outta my way!”
        She moved to stop him in his tracks. “You know the rules.”
        “Sure. ’I’ before ‘e’ except after ‘c’.”