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Challenge #04837-M088: We Have What Now?
A wealthy family, though decent enough rulers. A lonely child whose parents were so busy they had little time for hir. The child started making little clothes, tiny furniture, and putting together a dollhouse, a mini mansion. When asked why, the child simply said, my friends want to visit more so I won't be lonely. -- Anon GuestArdinae had a nurse, a tutor, a bodyguard, and a host of dressers, chefs, and stylists to make sure they were the very picture of an upper-class young lady. What she lacked was friends and playmates.Acidity
A Wizard needs several weeks to reduce a potion's acidity so that the patient will agree to drinking it.
A Witch needs only five minutes to describe to the patient what will happen to him if he does not drink this potion NOW.
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#PennedPossibilities 970 — MC POV: Have you ever experienced something that couldn’t be logically explained?
[Bolt:] Look. I was never good at school, except in athletics. It never made sense to me, all them girls and guys studying boring things and liking it. Now adays, I can't get my head around the logic of working in an office, doing all them repetitive things over and over and over again. Not being able to move around all day long? Ugh! Don't see the logic in that. I can't figure out how I'd ever let myself do that, no matter the coin it generated. Were I not a courier for the mob, I suppose being a courier might have been what I settled on. Or a furniture mover, if I could get that. Construction, maybe? Gotta be in motion!
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
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Of course us Capricorns got Leatherface 😂 Drop yours below, let's see who got the worst one! 👇
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This passage is near the end of the chapter I am currently writing. Bolt narrates. She's a flighty day angel. You tell me, is she excited?
Gloss: Tarantino teaches us that nothing equalizes people or is as relatable as sharing a meal… Teri is the name the devil-girl is using at this point in the story. It is short for Night Terror. She can perform what to us looks like magic. The passage is a barely revised first draft.
My worries fluttered away like a moth to a street lamp when the server delivered a golden custard dessert, a mound on a plate sealed under a burnt-brown crazed caramel-glass shell, in a moat of purple-brown, fragrant with cooked sugar and orange-berry liqueur.
"What's this?" I asked.
Her spoon floated over and tapped. Shards of glass sugar popped into a rubble skirt revealing the yellow hill, flecked with red, green, and brown herbs, which when I sniffed caressed my nose with hints of anise, mint, cinnamon, and… that tingle? Cayenne?
Teri replied, "We danced, so now you've had dinner and here's dessert."
"Sweet," I said, before thrusting my spoon in. Reflexively.
Dancing, dinner, and dessert? Men propositioned by a woman who was too lazy to have a plan suggested that.
Teri is not a guy, I reminded myself, then, a spoonful of—
Oh. My. Stars! Creamy, spicy, sugary bliss. I hugged myself, wings and arms, brushing the napkin off my lap and nearly dropping the spoon. Sweet was something I rarely had, but need it, want it, must have it instantly commandeered my brain, annihilating all resistance, maybe more so than my excuses to allow myself to be ridden by Teri had. I scooped glistening perfection. I sighed enjoying each spoonful. I won't admit to an occasional moan. I barely paused to wipe my chin.
"You happy now?" Teri asked as I crunched on the faintly carob flavored sugar shards.
"Ecstatic!"
Not exactly When Harry Meet Sally…
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
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My flash science fiction piece 'Spiralling Down', a cautionary tale, is up today at SciFanSat Magazine! Contrary to popular belief, you should always look a gift horse in the mouth...
https://scifansat.com/bibi/?book=SciFanSat_Issue_32_Spiral_03-28-2026.epub#p=1
Harvest
'WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR, IF NOT FOR THE CARE OF THE REAPER MAN?'
'If your Boss is anything like mine, Death, there's little chance He'll answer you.'
'I'D RATHER TRY ALL THE SAME, LUCIFER.'
'I never said you shouldn't.'
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Alastair Millar