The Best Date Ever

Photo by: Matthew Wright

Laila was smart and gentle, and more sexy than she realized. Joshua pursued her for months, trying to get her out on a date. Her refusals were never harsh, rather they were subtly encouraging. She loved leading a merry chase.

Finally, the day came when she agreed to a date. Joshua had been planning for weeks in case she accepted, and he flawlessly put his ideas into action. They wandered through little-known places with all sorts of unusual sights and sounds. Laila was thrilled. She leaned against him affectionately and Joshua thought his heart might burst with joy.

Soon, they rounded a bend and Laila’s eyes snapped open wide. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yes!” grinned Joshua, as they approached the fishing pier. “I hope you like fresh-caught food.”

“Oh yes! I love it!” squealed Laila.

“Look at that one,” said Joshua as he eyed the splashing.

“Oh, he’s so cute! I’ve never seen them in their native environment.”

“They taste great too. Much better when freshly caught.”

Laila grinned as they got closer to the fishermen. “How much can we eat?”

“As many as you want.”

“Oh!” shuddered Laila. “This is the best date ever!”

With a flick of giant flukes, Joshua and Laila surged ahead with jaws agape, eager to devour the fishermen on the pier.
Written for Matthew Wright’s weekly Mega Short-Story writing challenge. Look here for the original prompt:

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The Genius

Photo by: Alastair Forbes

Nils Sweeney donned his pop-artist uniform of beret and scarf, and smiled into the mirror. At last his genius was getting attention. He looked forward to meeting his new patron at The Bavarian House. The club was so exclusive no one knew anyone who’d been invited to it. When a swanky man in a bowler hat delivered the invitation, Nils could feel his fortunes changing. At last it seemed, he’d meet a patron who appreciated his genius.

For years he’d languished in obscurity. The painting of a Pepsi can failed to receive accolades. His pure white canvas garnered no praise. Even his eight-year old daughter Samantha, sitting at the table, failed to shower him with adulation. He turned from the mirror to see her writing on her tablet. He presumed she’d invented her own language. The squiggles mixed with numbers looked like finger painting to him. He sighed. It was too bad she hadn’t inherited his intelligence, but at least she claimed his imagination.

He thought it was odd that Samantha was included on the invitation; even stranger, her name was listed first. He presumed the club managers were just being kind. It showed how classy they were. For a moment, he considered leaving her home with a sitter. She would just be bored, of course. Later, he decided it would do her good to see her father receive the deserving acclaim for his brilliance.

They arrived at the edifice of The Bavarian House built in Germanic style. Though the outside appeared large, the interior seemed larger by several orders of magnitude. The Maitre d’ welcomed them with a flourish. “Wonderful to see you, Miss Sweeney!” he gushed to Samantha. Nils just smiled. It was cute that they lavished attention on Samantha, even though it was Nils they wanted to see. Another sign of The Bavarian House’s class.

As they walked across the club, Nils began to recognize people. Idi Amin discussed roasting techniques Julia Child. Gianni Versace debated women’s clothing styles with J. Edgar Hoover. Nils said, “I didn’t realize this was a costume party.”

The Maitre d’ raised an eyebrow. “What costumes?”

“You know. Everyone is dressed as famous people.”

“Dressed as? These are famous people.”

Nils smirked. He looked to where Samantha wandered. She’d joined Albert Einstein in discussing a formula on a blackboard with Sir Isaac Newton. Those squiggles looked familiar to Nils. “But they’re all dead!”

“NOT in The Bavarian House,” sniffed the Maitre d’. “I don’t usually explain this to a famous personage’s escort. This place rests outside time and space. It is a meeting place for the geniuses of history.”

“Wait,” stammered Nils. “Escort?

Nils watched Samantha erase part of Einstein’s equation. She rewrote it as Einstein stared in shock. “Gott in Himmel!” he exclaimed. “You’ve done it! I could never balance this one. This will make Faster Than Light travel feasible!”

The Maitre d’ clapped Nils on the shoulder. “You must be proud to be the father of a famous person and a genius, yes?”
Author’s Notes:

Andy Warhol’s Coke bottle paintings are worth millions:

Kazimir Malevich painted a pure white canvas, “Suprematist Composition: White on White”:

Idi Amin was thought to be a cannibal:

J. Edgar Hoover (Director of the FBI) was thought to be a cross-dresser:

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. Look here for the original prompt. At the blue link you can find the stories many other folks wrote:

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Nice Going, Dummy

WoodEar found Chief Rocket Scientist Watters and said, “We Faeries can gift Humanity with interstellar travel.”

Watters scoffed, “Faeries don’t exist.”

WoodEar showed his pointed ears.

“Nice surgery.”

WoodEar showed a picture of the first faerie spaceship.

“Nice photoshop work.”

WoodEar entered the kilometer-long spaceship outside. “Sorry Captain,” he said. “They refused.”
Written for the Grammar Ghoul Press’ Shapeshifting 13 writing challenge. Look here to find the prompt and other stories written for the challenge:

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No Problems

Photo by: Sonya

Roland desperately wanted to buy Gavin’s ranch. As he sat on Gavin’s porch eating steaks, he tried to convince the man once more.

Roland took another bite of ribeye as crowds of Gavin’s peacocks stared intensely at them from the yard. “Ranching is problematic,” he said. “A lot of the animals¬†mutated while coming to the colony . Seems the spaceship’s shield didn’t block everything. A lot of animals weren’t viable anymore. How about your peacocks?”

“They changed a might,” shrugged Gavin. “Doubled in size. Couple other changes.”

“Makin’ any money?” probed Roland.

“Got orders to beat the band from Earth. Giant peacock feathers are in fashion.”

“Razor-Wolves are a real problem.”

The native predators truly were a threat. A small pack could slice a cow to ribbons in seconds.

“Not for us,” said Gavin.

Roland shifted in his seat. “Feed for the birds gotta cost a lot.”

“Not really.”

Roland’s mouth worked. “Well, whaddya feed ’em?”

Gavin tossed half his steak over the railing. Peacocks gobbled it up in seconds.

He smiled. “I feed ’em Razor-Wolves.”
Written for the weekly Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers writing challenge. Look here for the original prompt and a blue link to other stories:

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The Best Day

Photo by: C.E. Ayr

Warren leaned on his cane as he brought his teen-aged daughter to the spot. “It was the best day of my life.” He smiled wistfully.

“What happened?” said Evette.

Warren pointed to the street drain. “I dropped my paycheck down that. I needed it to pay rent or get kicked out. So, I’m digging into the drain when a city bus hits me.”

“How awful!”

“In the hospital, I see the nurse for the first time. She trips and falls on my broken leg.”

“Oh! You must have hated her.”

Warren grinned. “Nope. A year later she gave birth to you!”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers. Look to see the many other stories written for this week’s prompt at the blue link:

Okay, just like last week, I wrote one story and wasn’t sure about it. So I wrote another. I went to a literary expert…and my wife said she liked both.¬† I don’t always write two like this. It just seems to happen lately. Rochelle, let me know if you’d prefer I don’t post two. Okay, here’s my other effort.


Beat cop, Harry Moynihan, watched the man in weird clothes drop a sugar cube thingee down the street drain. “What was that?” said Harry.

“Not to worry,” smiled Karavindu. “I’m making a new spaceship.”

“Alien, right?” sighed Harry.

Karavindu nodded.

Harry spoke to the mic on his shoulder. “Dispatch? Send the psych guys.”

“No, really,” insisted Karavindu. “It’s nanotech called Transvillicoccus. It works in the water supply.”

To the mic: “Send the CDC!”

The street bulged and broke. A five-hundred foot spaceship suddenly broke through.


“Whaddya want now?” quipped the police dispatcher. “The Army?”

“Don’t be ridiculous…send the Air Force!”

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A Poor Choice Of Words

“I can’t believe you told the Butcher’s Union that,” shuddered re-election director Fitzgerald.

Councilman Winton sighed. “I only said they’ll get their pound of flesh.”

Outside, hundreds of butchers sharpened their knives.

Fitzgerald winced. “I think they want more than a pound.”

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Modern Life

The DC-3 cargo/passenger plane wasn’t that unusual. Some still flew even in 2015, long after the first one took off in 1935. It’s sudden arrival over the airport was a surprise, but what shocked onlookers was its arrival from a single cloud surrounding an anomaly of blue light.

The passengers exited the plane and were swarmed by airline reps and government investigators. Hampton Claypool didn’t understand the fuss. He boarded the plane, it entered a strange cloud then exited it, landing shortly after.

He just never expected to land seventy-eight years later.

The group of eight were examined by doctors. Hampton tried small talk with his. The doctor only said, “Modern life is far better than in your time. You’ll live longer.” After that the doctor became unwilling to chat. Hampton couldn’t ever recall a doctor with so little interest in his patient.

The eight were ensconced in a room for several hours before Marjorie arrived, stating she was their legal representative in this time. She escorted them to a van that would drive them to their debriefing. Hampton noted the very tall cup in her hand. “What’s that?” he said.

“Espresso. Just one espresso shot has more kick than regular coffee. This is a quadruple espresso. It helps me wake up after my sleeping pill from last night.”

Hampton noticed her taking a pill. “Sleeping pill?”

“Oh that’s for my Restless Leg Syndrome (RLS). My legs are always twitchy. No one knows why.”

Hampton refrained from comment.

Later, Hampton asked why Marjorie took yet another pill. She replied, “It’s for depression. No more suicidal thoughts for me!”

Like the other travelers from the past, Hampton marveled at the number of cars. He said, “Impressive parking lot.”

Marjorie smiled. “Oh this is the highway. It’s faster.”

“But we aren’t moving. Was there an accident?”

Marjorie grinned at his naivete. “It’s always like this.”

“Well, where are we going?”

Marjorie pointed to a building a half mile away across a grassy field. “It’s right there.”

“Well let’s just walk.”

Marjorie stared in shock. “Are you kidding? It’s too far!”

One hour later they arrived at the debriefing building. Hampton and his fellow passengers in time were frustrated, angry, and impatient. Marjorie left to find their debriefer.

When she was gone, Hampton stood up. The other eight stood up too. Woodrow said, “What’re you planning, Hamp?”

Hampton opened the exit door. “I’m flying back into the anomaly before this modern life kills me!”
Written for Matthew Wright’s weekly Mega Short-Story writing challenge. Look here for the original post:

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