Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
The 75er Entry Thread
Post your 75-word stories in reply to this post, folks.
Have fun. Try not to bloody each other’s noses . . . we’re all friends here.
D.
Post your 75-word stories in reply to this post, folks.
Have fun. Try not to bloody each other’s noses . . . we’re all friends here.
D.
Knowing how he used his women and his bloodthirsty history, she devised a tale of mystery, romance and intrigue. In her fable, magic carpets crossed the skies. Fearless heroes slew fabulous beasts, overcame seemingly insurmountable odds and ravished beautiful and willing women. She planned a climactic finish that was not quite an ending, instead offering suspenseful temptation and a promise of even greater wonders.
Unfortunately, no-one had told her that the the Sultan was deaf.
I never knew blood was sticky. It dripped onto my legs like Hershey’s syrup on ice cream. I sat and played, my fingertips making kissing sounds when they lifted from my thighs.
I looked up into the astounded face of my grandmother, snapped up in my snare. Too bad the gunshot took just the top of her head. Bits of brain fell and sprinkled my thighs like nuts. I smiled, wishing I had a spoon.
It took almost a century, but in the end I found her. She was out picking flowers in front of her cabin when I landed. For some reason, she’d come back to Earth.
“It’s over, Mab,” I said. “You may as well go quietly.”
“Of course,” she said. “Can I just get my things from the house?”
“No.”
“Fair enough.” Faster than I could follow, the gun was in her hand. “I’ve been expecting you.”
He turned. Too late, I saw the gun.
Wait. Back up.
I was the shadow, he was the subject. Go where he goes, see who he sees. Get paid.
He wasn’t supposed to have a gun, but that’s life.
A hole through my jacket. A little blood. Him, running towards me, stumbling, shouting. “No! I thought you were her husband!â€
Then I held a gun, too. “You’re a lousy shot,†I said.
I was better.
Brent woke to bright lights, maybe a big city. He tried to sit, but something held his wrist. A cat. A really BIG cat. Well, her name was Cat and he didn’t want to see where his hand had disappeared. Or maybe he did. Either way, her eyes were closed and he tried to remove his hand. But it was stuck. That’s when he realized she was one cool kitty and those lights were police.
“It’s completely impossible!â€, wailed Watson. “If the butler was the Count all along, and the dagger was the wrong shape for him to use with his deformed hand, how could the man in the locked room have possibly influenced the elephant to fertilize the poisonous plant that eventually infected the Duchesses’ open wound and killed her?â€
“It should be obviousâ€, Holmes said quietly, opening the engraved box to reveal the deus ex machina nestled within.
I stare down at her small face, silver curves in the blue light of the November moon. It’s 3am and she nestles against me, warm and soft and peaceful. In this minute, she is only mine, and there is no one else who matters. No one else will ever see her this way – this close, this quiet, this angle. And no one can ever take this memory from me, this quiet, moonlit moment together.
A Short History of the Bride in White
1941 – A christening during wartime, a tiny white gown in the darkness.
1962 – White train among the bridesmaids.
1971 – A new Chevrolet with whitewalls.
1990 – Stop using dye, act your age. Let that white hair show.
2002 – White knuckles. A second opinion would be advisable.
2004 – A white sheet, drawn over the still face by careworn hands.
Support the Pink Ribbon.
I set out to write a story but what came out was a rant about life and love and boys and school and all the other things that make grownups say “weren’t those the days?†but to us they’re not “the daysâ€. They’re real life, heaven and hell, and we won’t quite get the full impact until it’s ten years later and we’re far away and we will realize how incredibly good we had it.
(here’s one that is ACTUALLY a story…:-D)
“May I?†he asked, his voice shaking.
“There, like that?†he wondered aloud.
“Oh, w-wow†he stuttered as he smiled blissfully.
He explored and discovered and learned with the enthusiasm only found in those who have been waiting years to reach this point. And she lay there and taught and squirmed and said, “yes, see, there, like that, yes, love†and when it was over she had only one thought in her head:
I win.
(Since I supposedly can’t write happy-bunny stories)
The happy little bunny bippity-bopped in its field of flowers. It ate some tender clover and said hello to the other meadow animals before stretching out in the sun for a nap. Night came and the happy little bunny went home to its hoppy-tailed wife and bouncy little babies and they ate yummy carrot and cabbage stew. Then he went out for a beer, met up with a wild hare, and was never seen again.