2. Radioactive flan. Freak accident. FLAN MAN!
3. Selfie-stick laments enabling preaning douche…
4. Cockney bible offends ‘Crusty Buns’ (nuns)
5. Millipede copyrights trainers and becomes gazillionaire
7. Deaf Lepers form terrible tribute band
8. Edward trouser-press hands? No…Edward…
9. R Kelly’s final words: I believe (OR: Turns out R Kelly can’t fly)
10. Time-travelling pickpocket steals own wallet
12. With third helping Jagger finally satisfied
13. Wonderful news Bertie. Satan’s popping over!
14. Red-headed step child. The Prophecy!
15. Suicidal McDonald turns bun on himself…
Previous entries include:
6 Word Stories #1
6 Word Stories #2
‘I don’t understand it,’ said the Russian doll, ‘These shopping bags are getting bigger and home is getting further away!’ (123 characters)
Written for: Twittering Tales
Ron Lexican was the greediest man to ever walk the earth. There was nothing he wouldn’t shamelessly usurp – other people’s land, other people’s wives…
It got so bad that his neighbours banded together to build a big, beautiful wall with which to contain him.
When Ron learned of their treachery his cheeks burned incandescent orange with rage. He attempted to scale the spiky barrier but his tiny hands were not up to the task…
…So he tweeted out insults, but alas the wall was fitted with a device that blocked internet traffic. Ron was never heard from again #SAD…
Written for: Friday Fictioneers (100 word fiction)
…This is the guy I was telling you about. He’s here every Thursday, regular as clockwork.
…A decade maybe? Always with the second guitar in a case that he never opens.
…No, he sets it up next to the speaker and stands away from it.
…Mostly call and response songs. He calls and no one responds. You only get one side of the…
…I think her name is (or was) Maggie.
…Because for all his many tunes he always comes back to that name – ‘Maggie Mae’, ‘Maggie’s farm’, ‘Little Maggie.’
…I see her as an Irish tearaway – unmanageable fiery red hair, a checked dress, pale legs, plimsols…
…A voice that can find the harmony in any melody. We’ll make a tormented poet of you yet!
…What? And leave her guitar behind? No, I think the clues point towards something more…
…What’s wrong with a little morbid curiosity?
…By just looking at his face. Whoever and wherever she is, he finds her in the music…
Written for: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
2. Fine! I’ll raise our ginger child…
3. Went to Rome. Bunch of plebs!
4. Giant asteroid. No point in dieting.
5. I came. I sore. I ashamed.
7. Sales slump attributed to cannibal holocaust
8. White supremacist baker killed. Brown bread.
9. Hospital full. Everyone Kung fu fighting.
10. Ventriloquist dummy blames owner for murder
12. Eve you minx. Fancy an apple?
13. Parallel universe. King trampled under suffragette
14. Harry, lets marry. Sorry Faye. Gay
15. Hell beast, loves cooking, GSOH seeks…
‘We’ve been over this a dozen times Gregory. I grow tired of repeating myself.’
‘Yes, and I apologise for the inconvenience, but surely there’s a more mutually beneficial way of sealing our union than a duel to the death with an opponent famed throughout the land for being able to pull a man’s arms out at the sockets. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not saying that you’re not ‘fair’ enough fair-maiden…’
‘Now Gregory, you know how I despise double-negatives!’
‘Yes…but under the circumstances of my imminent, garish dismemberment one might expect to be granted a little leeway?’
‘To win my hand you must prove your worth.’
‘But why must I be the greatest warrior? Why can’t I bake you the greatest cake? or sow you the greatest quilt?’
‘The crowd grows restless my love.’
‘OK…well, in that case…let me just go…check…that…my sword has been sufficiently sharpened.’
‘…And you’re not going to leap onto the fastest horse you can find and gallop away like the last lot?’
‘Upon my honour fairish maiden…’
Written for: Sunday Photo Fiction
From a lonely library, hanging by a thread, I took a book – last loaned fifty years past. From between its waxy pages a solitary slip of paper slid:
‘He suspects. It’s tonight or never. You – My all.’
A rendezvous unfulfilled; a burr that kept catching.
Necessity employed me as sleuth. The previous lender’s faded name led me to buildings long vacated and to a rain-soaked grave, the date of departure fifty years past.
Standing over the headstone – a man, unfeasibly old.
‘You were her husband?’
‘No, her… her other.’
‘I believe this was for you.’
Written for: Thin Spiral Notebook (100 Word Challenge)