by Go Ducks!
Thor opens the oven to reveal one single tiny tart.
“Hmm, now that’s one tasty-looking tart. I don’t know if Miss Paula Dean can beat my signature recipe. But I guess she’ll sure try.”
The studio audience claps.
“You bet your ass I will.” Paula says as she struts onto the set.
Thor welcomes her with a big hug.
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by The Honest Liars
It was yellow like the sun, and Charlie had never seen anything like it in his life. He got on one knee to look closer. He wondered if it was warm to the touch, or if it would burn him.
“Maybe it’s a rose,” said Charlie.
“You should get away from it. It’s dangerous,” said Louis, adjusting the glasses on his thin nose.
“There ain’t no roses in Rose City,” said Nathan as he crossed his arms.
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by Amanda Robinson
Bobby wasn’t really crazy. Unfortunately, only a handful of people knew Bobby wasn’t crazy, and almost all of them were Bobby. Bobby’s only real problem was that he was an avid proponent of the works of Brian Greene, the theoretical physicist and string theorist. See, when you try to explain to people that everyone has doppelgangers- exact copies of themselves who exist in parallel realities- you tend to be labeled as crazy, or perhaps simply a little “out there”. Go on to explain that these doppelgangers can travel between any of infinite multiple universes, and so can you, and you’ll notice your listeners begin to back away from you slowly. Continue reading
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by Nick Powell
Of great age were the halls Paul strode. Not in four years had the feet of men tread within, but now there rang the clangor of steel and the roar of machines with cutting teeth. Strewn about were rags and boxes of caustic powders and buckets of hissing acids, and to and fro went his fellow workers clad in rubber and helmets grunting as they pried wood and pipe from the walls, stripping the halls down to their metal frame and carrying the dross out in wheeled buckets as fogs of dust billowed in their wake. They yelled and laughed at each other above the din. Prowling in the noise was the timekeeper, whose work lay in a stack of papers, rather than in his hands. Paul, dressed as his fellow workers and gripping a great hammer in his right hand, strode into a room whose skin was of porcelain, punched through by cracked tin plumbing, all corrupted of a creeping black mold that the years had been kind to. He was thankful of his mask as he went at his work, smashing with broad sure strokes the wall, sundering tile as though it were soil ‘neath a plough.
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by Team Training Bra
Tonight was the night.
Ben smoothed his fingers over the outline of the key in his pocket, breathing slowly. He calculated every movement as he walked down the corridor into his room, ensuring to adhere to the list of rules written on the wall of the ward.
1. No contraband in the Rose City.
2. No stealing in the Rose City.
3. No smoking in the Rose City.
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Sledgehammer Writing Contest 