A Moral Mistake

        “Morals?” The cockroach smirked. “What’s that?” He wore an eye patch and carried a laser gun.

        “Rules and regulations.” Mrs. Bunny picked a flower and placed it in her basket. “It’s how the game is played.”

        “There are rules? Since when?” The cockroach shot a daisy with his laser and petals flew everywhere. “I don’t need no stinkin’ morals.”

        “Children know the difference between right and wrong.”

        The cockroach swore.

        A booming voice sounded, “Send the bug with the eye patch to Mayhem, level M.”

        Poof! The cockroach disappeared.

        Mrs. Bunny smiled wisely. He thought morals were for the weak.

Let’s see what the others wrote:

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Footprints in the Snow

I’m a believer. I know Sasquatch is out there.  I’ve seen its tracks and heard it howl.  When I was a teenager, winter camping with my scout troop, we’d spent the night in snow caves. The next morning we found giant footprints. We followed them to a frozen, snow-covered lake.   

        That’s when we heard it howl. Boy, howdy.

        I was a dumb kid. I went out on the ice to where the footprints in the snow suddenly ended at a crack but continued on the other side. Sasquatch had stepped over it, but I couldn’t. I ran back, a believer.

Let’s see what the others wrote.

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Charity?

        Will dipped his pen in the inkwell. He brought it to the paper, waiting for inspiration. None came. The candle flickered and a door closed behind him. Anne had entered the room.

        “What are you writing tonight?” she asked.

        “It’s a comedy about a couple who constantly haggle.”

        She tickled his ear. “Like us?”

        He smirked. “What do you know of charity?”

        “The Bible tells us, it is the greatest of all.” She blew out the candle.

        “Oh, foul charity.” Laughing, he pulled Anne into his lap and kissed her eager lips.

        She giggled. “Who can sever love from charity?

Be sure to check out what the others wrote with this prompt.

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Liberty

            Liberty McGhee was born on Independence Day, twenty-two years ago. Ever since she was old enough to wave the flag, she’d dreamed of serving her country, and joined the Marines Corps after graduating from high school.

        Liberty had spunk as well as beauty and brains.  She trained as a helicopter technician, quickly advancing in rank.  All the Marine pilots wanted her on their maintenance teams. However, one lieutenant wanted her on his home team. She ducked for cover whenever he tried to kiss her. But Liberty had no refuge the night he dropped to his knee and proposed marriage.

Check out what the others wrote with this prompt:

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Job Hunter

        Savannah sat at her computer, filling out the online application. Education: Which sounded more impressive, Harvard or Stanford? Work experience: Saks Fifth Avenue or Abercrombie and Fitch?

        She remembered her father’s advice. “Never tell the truth when a lie will get you through the door faster.”

        With a confident smile, she filled out the form and pressed “Enter”. The truth was boring. She had graduated from Idaho State University in Pocatello, Idaho with a degree in accounting. But Bloomingdale’s must never know that.

        Her phone buzzed and she answered the call. “Hi, Dad.”

         “How’s job hunting?”

        “Piece of cake.”

What did the others write:

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Sacked

Today’s prompt: The girl shouldn’t have been sacked, but if he said anything . . .

        Dreams Come True Mattress Company was a nightmare. The manager was literally an ogre. Most of the employees were elves—little people with pointy ears. The sales representative drank Bloody Mary for lunch. But Theobald needed a job. So he went to work in the shipping department where mattresses were wrapped in sheets before being loaded into cardboard boxes.

        This morning he heard a moan coming from the back of the warehouse. A beautiful, young elf struggled in the sheets. The girl shouldn’t have been sacked, but if he said anything, he’d be sacked too. Smiling mischievously, he climbed in.

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Who Done It?

There had been many theories about how she had been murdered.

        Becca studied the prompt and grimaced. Its wording was awkward, and the repeated phrases annoyed her. Bored, she glanced about the classroom. Ms. Walker, her English teacher, sat half-hidden by the laptop monitor on her desk. Was she playing solitaire again?

        The students scribbled madly, but Becca remained stumped. Theories were only rumors. What about evidence?

        She imagined Ms. Walker’s bloody body splattered on the pavement. Had she been pushed out the window or was she run over by a school bus? Smiling wickedly, Becca began to write.

Now read what other writers wrote with this prompt:

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