So, doctor, what does the MRI show?
You’ve basically lost your knuckles in your thumbs. Texting, gaming. See it more often. Used to be reserved for old men who did typesetting.
How can I have lost my knuckle when it’s …
She liked to pretend, on cold nights, that she was in the coffin with him.
She would lie on her back, stiff and straight. Pulling the bedding up close on both sides; bunching it until she felt more like she was …
Everybody else in line is impatient except him.
He just stands there, smiling, behind the ancient lady and her elderly son who reads and re-reads the billboard menu to her, explaining the items as he goes, trying his best to …
We moved into the same office when it was discovered our old building was riddled with asbestos. Every full-time staff member was given their own office, except Mervyn who had to share with me, the part-timer. At the time I …
Only impoverished lunatics spend Christmas eve at the Original Mitchell’s restaurant. My boyfriend Scott and I had five bucks to our name. Santa had shunned us. We’d been extra bad, and there was no redemption in sight.
We sat at …
Adam took a long swig of the potion and scowled. He’d changed the combination of herbs which had only served to emphasis the pungent taste. He had no choice but to drink it as it helped him summon the dead. …
Again.
She tries on her closet. Nothing fits.
She throws out her clothes. She’s done this before. And twice before that.
With nothing to wear, she is glad she has no lover, no places to go.
But first, there will …
(The Potato Soup Prompt Challenge was to use these three prompts: Melting snowman, flat tire, mashed potatoes. For the next prompt challenge, click on the “Story by Prompts” tab.)
Head pounding, stomach roiling, and vision swimming, Detective James sat up. …
“Did you hear what happened to ole Doc Webster?” I asked the old man sitting on the bench next to me. Before he could reply, Mayor Tom Winger came tearing through the town square in his new, 1976 Chevy Impala …
She is eating apples. Nothing but apples will do. As she paces the house she crunches through their hard skins into the clear crunchy pulp, the sweet-sourness in her mouth.
Not his sourness. She is washing that away.
No apple …