Short Short Stories August 20, 2014Posted by nrhatch in Fiction, Humor, Word Play, Writing & Writers.
A local newspaper solicited short short stories (25 words or less) to run in the paper during the month of August.
At the end of the summer, one story will be chosen as “the winner” and its author will receive a culinary prize from . . . The Lazy Lobster.
I like lobster. Even lazy lobsters, which are easier to catch. I also enjoy playing with words, so I submitted a few short shorts:
The Best Thing About Getting Older
Audrey watched her 97-year-old neighbor sail by on a bike: “You’re such an inspiration, Vivian. What’s the best thing about getting older?”
“No peer pressure.”
[We have a 96-year-old neighbor who still rides his bike and NEVER worries about peer pressure.]
Sophia hated waiting.
A woman in purple scrubs passed by, “Sorry, Sophia. Your chemo will start soon.”
Great. More time to kill . . .
[Fiction. Through and through. The only Sophia I know is NOT undergoing chemo. Which is good since she’s only 9.]
Busted light. Sparks flew. Son professed innocence. Mom’s cross-examination shed light. Son came clean.
“I might have hit the hot bulb with a wet towel.”
[Fiction. Sort of. Borrowed from an anecdote Janna shared with me.]
Where’s the ESC Key?
Memories erased, a hard drive malfunction. A lifetime abased, software keeps crumbling. Circuits and synapses fried, no longer firing. Fumbling thoughts stumble, a graceless nosedive.
[Prompted by watching “creeping senility.” No, not mine! My parents.]
Following Our Gut Instincts
Ralph leaned over his bike’s handlebars, revealing serious belly bulge. John pointed, “That’s not a 6-pack . . . it’s a keg!
Ralph laughed, “I’m following my gut!”
[Prompted by seeing a guy in tight biker shorts with no shirt.]
Pretty Swift, eh?
Category: 19th Century Authors.
“Final Jeopardy answer.”
“Alex hasn’t revealed the clue.”
Cue clue. Contestants stumped.
Answer announced: Jonathan Swift!
[True story. Just one of the amazing Winks, Whispers, and Nudges I’ve experienced from the Universal Matrix/Web.]
A Secret Made For Sharing
Mom hid dad’s birthday cake. “It’s a secret.” Jamie nodded. Seeing dad, the cork popped and 2-year-old Jamie squealed, “Cake in ‘ere! Cake in ‘ere!”
[True story. For 2-year-old, birthday cake is too exciting to keep secret.]
How Do You Do That?
My husband waved an opaque bag, “Guess what I bought!”
The answer drifted in . . . “PEZ dispensers.”
“How do you do that?!”
“Sometimes I just know.”
[True story. Sometimes I just know. And it always freaks BFF out.]
He’s Five. I’m Three. Do the Math!
Terrified by my older brother’s taunts, I screamed for back-up. “M~O~M!!! Jamie’s gonna hit me!”
Mom (a clueless only child) replied, “Well, hit him back.”
[I am NOT a tattle tale! Or a cry baby. Stop saying that . . . or I’m gonna hit you! And don’t go running to mom. She won’t do anything anyway.]
“Stop rocking the boat!”
“Learn to sway.”
“No. I’m leaving. Today.”
“I may . . . one day.”
[Fiction. Just playing with rhyme time.]
Falling on Deaf Ears
As the Merry-Go-Round slowed to a stop, my 3-year-old niece kicked her wooden carousel horse to urge it forward. “Don’t Stop, Horsie! Don’t Stop!”
[True story. The niece in question is now 21 and knows that kicking wooden horses will not make them speed up.]
Aah . . . that’s better!