Other stories for this prompt

Once upon a time there was a bug who wanted to live on my finger. I called the little fella over and asked him to stay a while. This all started when my father said to never touch a big because it might bite you. After he died, I decided to ask bugs to come over and sit for anhile. It made it easier to think about my sorrow. I named the different bugs, every single one of them. One bugs name was idiot. He sat there as I picked off a wing. The other wing was still there. It...

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It was a swarm. They were trying to get in. Surrounding the house. I was running frantically throughout the house, making sure every window and small crevice was locked and closed up. Leaving no gap, or space to get in. The house was air-tight. After a while, the buzzing stopped. The swarm died down, I was safe. I walk outside to double check and I hear one last buzz, closer than ever, as if it was in my ear. It was on my shoulder. I pick it up and see a little insect. It's wings were long, it had a...

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He didn't know what to say. No one did. It had never landed on anyone's finger before. The fabled winged bug, unlike any other on this planet, stayed away from all lifeforms. Of course there were stories about what would happen if it actually did touch someone, and he guessed he was about to find out. Would he die? Would untold riches come his way? Would he become the most famous person on Terra 12?

The bug, which felt lighter than a feather in his hand, looked up at him. He couldn't help but wonder what it thought. Or did...

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I don't like insects. Nor mammals. Or birds. Especially I don't like humans. Or inanimate obects. Everyone thinks I'm weird. And so I am.

As one of the few survivors from the Roswell crash, I am allowed to be different. My brain is no longer functioning and I've forgotten my mission on Earth.

I can eat, talk, eliminate although most of the time I have no idea what I am doing.

Doctor Rushton say's that he thinks I'm far more superior than any politician he's met. He's a little quirky as I suppose you know.

Tomorrow we're going on a...

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"Dragonflies are good luck," his grandmother used to say. "They are fairies' horses. Their wings spread wishes and wonder."

He remembered that and not much else about her. They would sit in the grass by the shore of the lake. He used to spend three weeks every summer out at his grandparents house. They picked blueberries and chopped wood, made cookies and walked in the woods.

He was an adult now. They were long dead.

His daughter stood in front of him, frowning, hands onm hips. "That's not true, daddy. Dragonflies are dragonflies, not horses. And fairies don't exist."


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Amelia sat happily cooing in her pushchair. It was the most perfect summer's day; barely a cloud in the sky, a slight breeze in the air. Jane looked down at her daughter. After four months, she still couldn't believe she had created her. This tiny, little bundle of perfection was made by her. Of course, Tony had played a role, but everyone knew that mothers did most of the work.
Amelia blew a raspberry; Jane smiled down at her. Who knew it could be possible to love someone so very much. It actually ached.
A wasp flew down, making itself...

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I watched as the creature - the whatever it was - floated on the soft breeze towards me. It had wings, but it didn't seem to want to use them, gliding through the air instead. As it got closer, my nerves started to act up.

I hate insects.

I hate anything with more than four legs and I'm not that keen on anything with more than two, if I'm honest about things.

I felt cheated as I watched it. The first sunny day in weeks, and I had a chance to enjoy it, sitting in the garden with a book...

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Her cheeks were as pink as her dress, blotched with red that matched the little bows that tightly held her blonde hair up in two ridiculous pony-tails that resembled palm trees. Her mother did the dog's hair like that as well. Jonathan always wondered how someone could want a second Maltese instead of a daughter.

Was he being unfair? Probably. It was something he slung at Marie as their last fight as a married couple wound down. That fight he'd carried on with such spirit convinced there would be break-up hate sex, but that shot at her parenting skills effectively...

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About the prompt

Originally displayed on:
August 25, 2010


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