(I get credit if a novel comes out of one of these!)
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Uncle Ed will never know, she thought, about the box of entrails I keep in the closet....
It was a bright and surprisingly clear night....
Stephen King? Why would Stephen King be calling me? Here?
As she wrenched the pencil sharpener off the classroom wall, she felt a strength she had never known...
The dog glared at him.
Living. Loving. She's just a woman.
Into each life some duds do stroll...
How could a toilet, a common house commode, have followed me here? Where did it get the address?
This is not for me, Sister Clarissa thought, as she began the tumbling routine from the top...
I sat and sat and sat and still Monday Night Football did not come on. Then I remembered it was Saturday.
My dear girl, he quipped wryly, did you not notice the noose when you walked onto the lanai?
How many times could one person win Wimbledon? The years bore him out.
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Use these at the start of a story, in the middle, as a last line even!
Share your (short short) stories in the comments!
Writing is fun.
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ReplyDeleteStephen King? Why would Stephen King be calling her? Here?
ReplyDeleteKayla flipped open her phone and answered it, trying to sound casual. "Oh, hey, Steve."
There was no answer for a few seconds. Just silence, then, without warning he answered. "I need you here now. There's been a break in the story."
Kayla flipped the phone closed immediately and rushed out of the restaurant, ignoring her bill and running onto the sidewalk. They had been working to crack the Smith case for years now. If Stephen was calling her, she knew it must be serious.
Not many people knew besides Kayla that he was a private investigater. She knew he wouldn't risk anyone finding out with something as silly as a phone call.