Can you tell me a short story?

Question

It can be about anything...

your day to day experiences, horror, comedy, sci-fi...

anything...

I will read them all...

We can all share in each others talent for writing...

I will post the best STORIES on my blog...

I know you guys, you all have a hidden writer just urging to be released... This is your opportunity to shine!

Be my guest...




ONCE UPON A TIME...

Answer 1

The last human on earth sat reading in his living room. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

Answer 2

Once upon a time, a fella posted a question on a website. Within minutes he received loads of answers, but none were really what he was looking for. He fell into a deep depression, sold his soul to the devil, and ended up losing his mind. He spent the next twenty years pushing a shopping trolley around city centres picking up cigarette butts. He thought it may ease the pain. It didn't.

The end.

Answer 3

Once upon a time, I got into my Yellow ‘Submerine’ with my long haired lover from Liverpool it was only,Puppy Love’ but there we were with the ‘Dr Peppers lonely hearts club Band’ heading for ‘Penny Lane' via ‘New York New York’where we met ‘Mr Tambourine Man’ thought ‘He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother’. There was such ‘Power of Love‘ and ‘Good Vibrations’ we crashed into the ‘Ferry across the Mersey’ we ended down the ‘Waterloo’ realising we were on the ‘Road to Nowhere’ we hopped on the ‘Wings of Love’ and ended ‘Up where we belong’ doing the ‘locomotion’ with a ‘Twist’ till I said ‘ Farewell my summer love’ and returned to ‘the spirit in the sky’ .

The end

Answer 4

... There was a car, a VW Beatle to be exact.

Now this car was no ordinary car, this car had powers; it had a mind of it's own and would often take off when it felt like it much to the owners dismay.

One day, this car entered a race, the French Grand Prix, all the other drivers with their big, powerful sports cars laughed at the little Beetle as it cut a pretty pathetic figure in comparison to their super cars.

The Beatle had the last laugh as it was the winner of the race due to its amazing powers.

Answer 5

Once upon a time there was a little bird, he broke his wing and ran into a barn to hide as he saw a cat emerging from behind the tree, he was feeling miserable, cold and sore. He walked under a large cow who covered him in cow dung. At first he thought things could not get worse and then he thought, well at least I am safe and warm.
Unfortunately the cat entered the barn and yanked him out of the cow dung and ate him.
The moral of the story is.....the person that gets you in the s**t is not always your enemy and the person that gets you out of the s**t is not always your friend'

Answer 6

a man and a woman had been married for fifty two years. they based their daily routine around each other, moving in circles of their marriage dance. bills were paid equally, holidays spent together, and evenings in front of the television, sharing their day. They shared everything. Except for one thing. In his study, there was a drawer that was kept locked. Only he had the key, and she did not ever question what was inside that drawer.
One day, after fifty two years of not knowing, curiosity got the better of her. While he was at work, she broke open the drawer. To finally discover his secret possessions after so many years! She pulled the drawer out to find.....nothing.
He walked in, surveying the scene.
'But why?' she asked.
'I needed something of my own,' he replied.

Answer 7

Marked For Life

Ian Reynolds


‘That’s the only way you can tell a Manchester slapper from a Salford slapper’, Malachy said.
‘What is?’ said Bri.
‘Manchester slapper has her tattoos spelt right!’
‘Oi! Any more of that and I’ll bar you.’ Julie Clark was a Manchester girl, and she was behind the bar of a Manchester pub, so she had every right to call time on these two jack-the-lads – but that Malachy, he was drop dead gorgeous. Her words lacked the cutting edge of censure. Instead, what might have been an admonishment ended up a come-on.
‘Let’s see then…’ Malachy said, understanding.
‘See what?’ Julie leaned on the Boddie’s pump. She was close enough to smell the stranger’s shampoo. Malachy was tall and slim and his clothes were new and trendy, but nothing did it for Julie more than the smell of clean hair.
‘Your tattoo. You do have a tattoo?’
‘I might have…’
‘Only, I can’t see any. Can you see any tattoos, Bri?
‘Can’t.’
‘Ah, well then. Must be somewhere private, then.’
‘Must be’, Julie smiled.
‘So, are you Manchester or Salford?’
‘Are you Belfast or Dublin?’
‘Belfast.’
‘Thought so’, said Julie. A man was tapping his empty glass on the bar. Julie left her perch on the pump. ‘Same again, George?’ The regular nodded and Julie heaved at the mild.
‘She’s bright this one’, Malachy said to his straight man, loud enough for Julie to hear. ‘Hidden talents. Hidden tattoos, too, I’ll bet.’
Bri laughed.
‘So, how do you know I’m from Belfast, then?’
‘Because you sound like the Reverend Ian Paisley’, Julie said, handing George his beer and accepting his 90p payment in tens and fives and pennies.
Bri’s face changed. He took a long draught of his Guinness and looked at Malachy, wondering what was coming next.
‘You’ve got the wrong side, girl.’
‘You’re Catholics?’
‘See, I told you she was a smart one.’
‘Not really’, said Julie. Her tone had changed. Gone were the cadences of flirtation and in their place a sharpness, a curtness and an unwillingness to prolong the conversation.
‘Did I say something wrong’, Malachy said, steel in his voice, his body tensing. Bri peered into his empty glass.
‘Not at all.’
‘So, what’s about you?’
Malachy realised that the bar had quietened. George was looking at him accusingly. The darts players sat motionless. The card dealer did not deal. The song on the jukebox was suddenly finished…
Julie, her eyes smarting, her chest tight, was undoing her blouse. Carefully, she placed it on the landlady’s stool, behind the bar. She turned her back to Malachy and Brian and on her shoulder, dissected by her bra strap, which she now pulled to one side, was the name ‘Christopher’ written in a blood red heart. ‘Christopher was my brother’, she said quietly. ‘He was a para. He was killed by a sniper hiding in the Divis flats in 1972. For three years now, my mam has cried herself to sleep every night. Live near the Divi’s flats, do you? Provos, are you?’
‘I’m so sorry’, said Malachy, who had come to England to escape from the pressure of The Troubles.
‘No, it’s not your fault’, said Julie.
Shivering now in the warmth of the bar, Julie replaced her blouse, excused herself and disappeared into the ladies’. A woman, maybe a friend, followed her. The bar’s eyes remained fastened on the Belfast boys. The silence was tangible: it was Bri who broke it.
‘Christopher’, he said. ‘At least we know she’s from Manchester then, Malachy.’

(587)

Answer 8

How short does the story have to be?

Try this one Gazza.
Once upon a time, a man went for a job;
he was HIRED,
he got TIRED,
he was FIRED.
The end.

Answer 9

Reverand John Flapps was down his local having a beer when he sees a lady from his congregation who is very drunk.
He goes over to her and attempts to help her home but they fall over and he ends up on top of her.
The landlord shouts "oi, mate you can't do that in here"
The rev replies "I'm Pastor Flapps"
Landlord says "Well, if your that far in you may as well finish!"

Answer 10

once upon a time there was a man who got 2 point for putting load of sh!t down the end