Stories written for Friday Fictioneers
I stood there, staring at my husband’s desk. I should’ve known it’d be too good to be true. Neat-freaks and scatterbrains aren’t opposites. They don’t attract. They repel.
Continue reading “Friday Fictioneers: Untitled” →
“What cha doin’?” George asks.
Continue reading “Friday Fictioneers: Just Another Day” →
Mr. C stares at the sign and sighs. Still gone as it has been for 50 years. He’s stranded in this desolate place as his brain kept wandering back to that fateful night. What went wrong? “I triple-checked that spirit-meter, didn’t I?” He muttered.
Continue reading “Friday Fictioneers: The Stranded Mr. C” →
“They call this the “Scrooge Farm”. Instead of Christmas decoration each year, around Christmas, there would be scarecrows dressed in rags and sandbags for heads popping up in random places ’round the farm. Now, no one has ever seen the owner as there’s no house on the hundred-acre property. “
Continue reading “Friday Fictioneers: Christmas Bedtime Story” →
Tossing his jacket onto the table, he sat down and sighed. He couldn’t believe it. Another pandemic. I’m 109, how many more events do I need to go through?
Continue reading “Friday Fictioneers: Another Pandemic” →
Great, fantastique, awesome, super.
Just how many more different ways can I exaggerate this situation?
I don’t know what gave anyone the idea or the impression I can single-handedly put together a Thanksgiving dinner in 4 hours.
4 HOURS!!!
There I was, slaving away in the kitchen – turkey, vegetables, and stuffing in the oven, potatoes ready to mash, and all there was left to do was dessert.
“Marge!” Came a holler.
I must had turned too quickly because next thing I knew, I was on the floor. “Ow,” I moaned. My leg was turned at an awkward angle. Crapulous.
“Marge, you okay?”
(100 Words)
Please note: the word “Crapulous” in this story does not mean what it actually means if you define this word in the dictionary. In this story, this word is the antonym of Fabulous. Crapulous, Fabulous, get it?
Sitting on this park bench, I am supposed to feel cold but somehow, I feel nothing except exhaustion and resignation. Continue reading “Friday Fictioneers: Chaotic World” →
This is Another Story