I checked the three kettles once again to see if everything was cooked to perfection.
The Three Musketeers had arrived really late last night, and had crashed immediately. They seemed to be famished, the poor souls.
Unfortunately for them, so was I…but not anymore.
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265 characters.
Written in response to Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales #119.
As per The Plan, I looked at the Drone hovering just above my head and announced majestically, “Puny Earthlings, I am Brwydgjhdbjhg from Mars. We have come here to lay claim on your planet, in the name of our Emperor, Zdfhdkjhfkjhf.”
I knew all the leaders of Earth would be seeing me through the Drone’s camera. It would not be long before they would see our might, and unanimously decide to bow before it without any resistance whatsoever.
Suddenly, there was a loud crackling on the Drone’s speaker, and a tentative voice, which my inbuilt computer told me was the President of Ghana, the most powerful country on Earth, spoke up. “And what would happen if we refuse your demands?”
“Then,” I replied, since this response was also already built into The Plan, “we will crush you to a pulp.”
“Excuse me,” the Prime Minister of Peru piped in, “but you and what army?”
My demeanor of confidence slipped for a bit then. Maybe I should have modified The Plan a bit once I’d discovered that our entire invading army had landed into the sea by mistake, and I was the only one left alive.
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195 words.
Written as a part of Sunday Photo Fiction, hosted by Susan Spaulding.
With a huge fake smile plastered on his face, Alibaba asked the gang of men, “Would you like some tea, gentlemen?”
Their surly leader curtly nodded in the negative.
Alibaba tried again, “We’ve planned a small, intimate party tonight, with exotic dancers, finest meats, and imported wine. Why don’t you join Marjeena and me?”
The gang of cutthroat marauders refused that also. All they wanted was a piece of his newly-found treasure.
As Alibaba turned around, he swore softly under his breath.
These Income Tax Officials would not be as easy to get rid of as those 40 thieves.
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99 words.
Written for the January 10 flash fiction challenge by Charli Mills, the host at the Carrot Ranch Literary Community.
I gently placed a red rose upon the grave of my love, and grieved, alone, as was my destiny.
I had never known a knight more valiant, or more gallant, than Sir George. MY Sir George.
The very first time I saw him, he had his sword drawn, and was charging on fearlessly astride his white steed. I think that was the moment that I fell in love with him, absolutely, unconditionally, irrevocably.
Something had stirred in my heart as I saw his shiny new armour seemingly aflame under the glare of the hot sun.
No wait, that cannot be right. It was raining at that time, I distinctly remember that.
Aah…..yes…now I recall everything.
His shiny new armour seemed aflame because it was aflame.
I gently wiped my tears and crept away from the tomb.
I had loved him with all my heart, but a dragon has to be ready to make any sacrifice to preserve his honour.
*************************************************************************************Written in response to Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt.#writephoto
The room was almost throbbing with tension as I looked up towards the judge’s chair.
My fate rests in his hands, I thought to myself as the judge sat contemplating the verdict. The stakes could not have been higher.
Finally, the judge lifted his pen, and wrote something. My fate was now sealed, irrevocably.
The judge now lifted the page, and started reading, “After much deliberation, and careful inspection, I have arrived at the conclusion, that the winner of MasterChef Olympus is… Zeus, for his culinary masterpiece, The Deconstructed Rainbow!”
I finally let out a breath.
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97 words.
Written as a part of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
“Honey, this doesn’t look very safe for our boy.”
“Don’t worry babe, the Doctor said it’ll make him big and strong.”
“OK, if the Doc says it’s fine…”
“Hon, what’s happening?”
“Well, he does seem big and strong…and green.”
“Which Doc did you go to?”
“Dr. Bruce Banner, darling.”
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275 characters.
Written in response to Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales #118
Their weekly game of Rummy over without too many acrimonious incidents and accusations of cheating and skulduggery, the group of old ladies now came to the primary agenda for the day.
“So,” said Mrs. Johnson, “whose turn is it to keep the trash outside today?”
Amidst a cacophony of cackling noises, Mrs. Blumenthal showed everyone the screen of her new smartphone and said assertively, “It’s my turn, I’ve got the schedule right here.”
And then, she promptly picked up the bag of used paper plates and plastic glasses easily with one hand and walked out.
And now, Mrs. Blumenthal was standing next to the community Garbage Bin, with the garbage bag lying on the ground.
Suddenly, a garbage truck slowly entered the street, and stopped next to Mrs. Blumenthal.
A handsome man with muscles bulging out from places where muscles couldn’t possibly exist got out from the truck.
“Could you lease help me with this garbage bag, young man,” pleaded Mrs. Blumenthal, “it’s too heavy for me.”
And as the stud bent to pick up the bag, Mrs. Blumenthal took out her smartphone, and quickly touching up her hair, took a selfie with the young man’s impressive bottom.
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198 words.
Written as a part of Sunday Photo Fiction, hosted by Susan Spaulding.
 | John Yeo on Welcome to my Home! |
 | willowdot21 on Puppy Love |
 | Violet Lentz on New Beginnings |
 | Abhijit Ray on Welcome to my Home! |
 | anuragbakhshi on The Unwelcome Guest |
