Other stories for this prompt

I shot my butler. He was a mole! I should have known. I'm trained to tell whether someone is lying or not. I'm a secret agent, for crying out loud! Stupid, stupid, stupid. I shot my butler. He wasn't the best butler, actually. I shot my butler.

Read more

I shot my butler. I never really wanted to though, He was a kind man. It was a week ago, and since then I've been away from home. I've honestly never been past the garden walls, but I guess I deserve this punishment.
It was a bright morning, and the sun was shining graciously. I was hunting the sparrows that land to eat the seeds that were just planted.
Something went wrong. Horribly wrong.
I ran as soon as he died. I had nowhere to go, no money, and was very confused.
Right now I'm on a boxcar train, and...

Read more

"I shot my butler." I threw the manuscript across the room. Grabbed a scotch. No. Wait. Wanted a scotch, grabbed a bourbon. Drank it anyway. What kind of a piss-poor story ends with "I shot my butler?"

It was Fight Club, that's what did it. I think. All this unreliable narrator business. The publishing world hasn't been the same since, filled with hacks trying to seem clever with these terrible twist endings. It's almost unbearable.

I polished off my bourbon. Still wanted scotch. Rang for Jeffrey. The house is too big, I can't be expected to go all the way...

Read more

I shot my butler. His name was Greg. I shot him because I don't think butlers should be called Greg. They should be called things like Alfred or Jeeves or Cadbury or Pennyworth. Not Greg, who was from New Jersey. He didn't have a British accent. He lisped. And he was a dwarf. And his armpits stank. And he insisted on working naked. That wouldn't have been so bad if his scrotum hadn't been seven feet long so that it dragged behind him when he walked. True, it helped keep the marble floors a little more polished, but grandma kept...

Read more

I shot my butler. R500's faults were many, burning the morning toast, giving me a crumpled newspaper to read, ushering guests into the wrong rooms to name a few. Robots should know better, after all their programming is far superior to our brains.

After a week of complaints from Marie, my third wife, the sexiest one I've had, R500 had to go. I used my new rifle to shoot him outside in the garden, scaring the peacocks strutting around on the lawn.

Obviously it was the wrong method of dispatch, he's back in the house, ironing my dress shirt for...

Read more

I didn't mean to do it- Honest to God, I swear he left me no choice. It was like he watered down my tea on purpose, just to irritate me. And he was always acting so suave to my mistresses, as if he owned the goddamn place. So yes, I shot my butler. But not to kill him or anything, really, I just wanted to scare him a little, I was never gonna pull the stupid trigger or anything. So I pull out the measly little hand gun, and he just goes white as his dainty little gloves he was...

Read more

I shot my butler.

No, actually, I did.

Yea, I know what you're thinking. "This lady's crazy if she's just gonna write about shooting her butler as if it's no big deal. She's probably writing from jail."

Well, I'm not in jail. He's actually fine. It was just.... In the craziness of that day... I didn't even know it was him. One minute there was no one there but the smoke in my eyes and screams in my ears, and the next moment I had a gun in my hand and there was the butler. He took a step toward...

Read more

I shot my butler. He was really making me mad. You see, I had told him several times to stop buring mt toast in the morning. He also had a nasty habit or overvooking my eggs. Nothing worse than overcooked eggs. Well, so you see, I had to shoot him. But he didn't die, which kind of made things worse for me. I only grazed his elbow. I knocked some bone chips off and not much else. He didn't even tell anyone it was me! he made up some story about slipping on some water on the floor of the...

Read more

It was really quite simple. I called him in to prepare my nightly tea time, he walked into the room and I shot him between the eyes.

Was really his fault. He couldn't be counted on to keep quiet about my nature. Still, it was fun while it lasted. I called in the maids and they promptly set upon his body for removal. It was something like a week and I had gone through almost a dozen staff. They buzzed like flies when I needed them, but just could not keep to themselves when it came to keeping secrets.


Read more

I shot my butler. Bastard had it coming to him. He insulted me at every turn, never cleaned any dishes, put his feet up as I hoovered the floors. He never did anything for me.

I could have just fired him - that seems like it would have been the rational thing to do. But then he had the guts to insult my mother in front of me.

Nobody insults my mother.

It was a nice sunny day. I was having a picnic with my lovely mistress, out in the woods. We found a nice little clearing where we could...

Read more

About the prompt

Originally displayed on:
April 28, 2011


We like you. Say "Hi."