Most Unusual Brownies

Photo by: J Hardy Carroll

Efrem inherited rare mystical magic powers from his father, but his true love was cooking.

The test to enter the School of Cooking was simple. Make brownies. So, Efrem put every fiber of his being into the food. When he finished, the cooking judges stared at him open-mouthed.

Efrem panicked. Something was wrong. “What is it?” he moaned.

Chief Judge Penworthy murmured, “Well, this is rather unusual…”

“Too much sugar?”


“Batter too stiff?”


“Then why do you all look like that?”

“Well, ah,” stammered Penworthy. “We’ve never seen anyone summon a fire-breathing dragon to cook brownies.”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

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Photo by: Randy Mazie

The ivy, growing outside the abandoned building, turned to the trumpet vine and said, “At first I thought this was a mistake.”

“Why?” said the trumpet vine. “The intelligent plants growing inside are thriving, and will soon take over the world.”

“I mean the ‘no trespassing’ sign. To curious humans that’s like an invitation.”

“Agreed, but it works. Just enough of them venture inside, unable to resist their own curiosity.”

“And after seeing our incredible developments, they have to be killed. No witnesses allowed.” The ivy shuddered.

“But it all works out,” said the trumpet vine. “Humans are great fertilizer.”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

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Photo by: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Billy-Joe never meant to cause trouble, but he had an uncanny talent for finding it. So when he stumbled across the intergalactic transit station, teeming with thousands of alien species, he vowed to stay out of trouble.

Hungry, he praised the station designers for placing a convenient orchard, complete with an apple tree. He plucked a fruit and ventured on, hoping to find a way home.

Minutes later, the mantis-like station police officer said, “Kidnapping is a serious offense, ma’am. Isn’t it possible your daughter wandered and got lost?”

“She couldn’t have,” exclaimed the sentient apple tree. “She’s an apple!”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

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The Terror

“OMG,” said Brittany. “Her butt is so big!”

Though new to the school, Brittany’s looks ensured she was popular, and she used that popularity like a terror weapon.

“Don’t talk about Angie’s butt,” hissed the girls around her. “It’s not safe.”

“Why not?” she laughed. “It’s huge!”

In the locker room, Angie was shunned by the other girls. Alone, she took off her swimsuit and breathed a sigh of relief. It was hard to squeeze into that thing, but there were advantages…

As her tentacles oozed over the lockers, Angie smiled.

Brittany would discover who the school’s true terror was, today.
Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

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That Time of the Century

Photo by: Jean L. Hays

The gargantuan dragon had proven impervious to human weapons and still demanded a virgin.

General Cavendish saluted fifteen-year old Genevieve Holder with a tear. “Your sacrifice will not be forgotten.”

Genevieve shook with fear, but bravely entered the cave entrance. Twenty minutes later, she returned, laughing.

Worried, Cavendish said, “What’s wrong?”

Still chuckling, Genevieve said, “It’s fine. She’s going through changes, and it’s that time of the century.”

Cavendish shook his head, confused. “Time for what?”

Genevieve patted his arm. “It’s a girl thing, General. I’m gonna need fifty yards of super-absorbent foam, preferably pink.”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

Authors Notes:

Guys, if you still don’t get it…ask a female friend for help…

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A Fine Vintage

Photo by: Roger Bultot

Gargoyles on a synagogue were unusual, but Rabbi Ibrahim liked them, and joking about it with Father Augustus was fun.

While people prayed inside, a man with a twisted mind and a black heart approached the synagogue with a heavy black gym bag. As he reached for the door, a stoney hand snatched him up.

Crunching sounds ensued.

As the final songs were sung inside, Bonk the gargoyle licked blood and gun oil off his claws. “The guns are the tastiest part,” he noted.

“Indeed,” said Biff, patting his distended belly. “The AR-15 rifle was a fine vintage. A ’98 I’d say.”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

Author’s Notes:

To everyone who has lost a loved one in attacks on the places of worship, my heartfelt condolences. For the perpetrators and enablers of these horrific acts, there is a special place in Hell reserved for you.

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The Head Will Roll

Photo by: Sandra Crook

Henry Wilchert made money the old-fashioned way; with cost overruns and outrageous product prices. He wanted to expand out of pharmaceuticals and into defense contracts. So he toured SpiderArmor before his hostile takeover.

Company owner, Gavin DuPuy, showed off the loom-like machine that made bullet-proof fabric. “We’re always under budget and meet proposed prices,” said Dupuy.

How do you make a killer profit? thought Wilchert. That’ll change. “How are the threads made?”

Dupuy pointed up. “Lilith.”

Above the loom crouched a spider, seven-feet across, feeding out silk to the spools.

“My god!”

“Don’t worry,” chuckled Dupuy. “She only eats greedy-minded men.”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

Authors Notes:

Spider silk woven into armor isn’t just my imagination. The US Army is looking into it right now:

To my friends in the world of flash fiction world: I’ve been generally uncommunicative, and I apologize for that. I’m working on a full-length book. The editing/critiquing process is long and arduous. Plus my very social 3-year old keeps me pretty occupied. The book is in final stages so I plan to be more responsive in the near future.

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