Instant Story

We’ve all wanted to go back and unsay that one hurtful thing - or at the very least, apologise before a chance at a friendship is lost - utter those words that got us mocked that time, undo that stupid thing that cost us self-respect and possibly more.

Only thing is: Who could stop at one?

(#00124)

Kylie blinked. There were now three of her in her room. Two were older. Both dressed in identical old-fart clothes that spoke loudly of their devotion to the hegemonic norm.

“Don’t go to the party,” said the one on the left side of her mirror as she continued to apply makeup. “It’ll be the worst mistake you ever make.”

“Are you kidding me?” said the her on the right side of the mirror. “Not going to the party was the biggest mistake of my life!”

“I got roofied and raped and slut-shamed! How could your life be any worse than that?”

“Um. Excuse me? My social life imploded after that party. Anyone who was there had all the breaks. I was ostracized as a nerd and never got anywhere.”

“I thought going to this party would stop me getting ostracized as a nerd,” said Kylie the younger. “And the people who are there anyway? They’re the social elite. They’d get all the breaks regardless.”

The two other Kylies stared at each other. “The whole thing was a set-up?” they said in unison.

“You know what?” said Kylie the younger. “I might anonymously call in about a rowdy party with drugs and then show up late with Starbucks.”

The two other Kylies vanished under the ripple effect. Kylie smiled and finished her lipstick. It wouldn’t be so bad, but versions of her just kept on turning up over the most improbable things.

[Muse food remaining: 15. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]

“Why do you sit there looking like an envelope without any address on it?

- Mark Twain

(#00122)

There were designated busking zones on any station large enough to attract the kind of itinerant population that gathered Minutes by entertaining passersby.

Amalgam had hundreds of them.

Rael knew from long, and partially agonizing experience, that Shayde loved them like nothing else. In the hours not taken up by duty, she would take her ‘axe’ down to one at random, and

“Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.”

(#00121)

“This,” announced the Doctor, “is the Monestary of the Believers.”

“The believers in…?” prompted Sally.

“Everything. Everything that is. And a few things that aren’t. They devote a lifetime to it. Each devotee is not allowed to have the item they’re meant to believe in.”

Sally peeked through the slot. A

To a man with a hammer, everything looks like a nail.
To a man with only a hammer, a screw is a defective nail.
To a man with only a nail, everything looks like a hammer.

(#00120)

She ran through the darkened streets, harsh breathing absorbed by the endless fog of Lower Cogtown. She’d lost the whistles of the gendarmerie five streets ago, but that was no reason to stop.

It was no reason to even slow.

To a man

The surest way to hit your target is to shoot first and call whatever you hit your target.

“That’s a long way down. You must be pretty determined.”

“Thanks. I wanted to make certain this was one thing I couldn’t fuck up.”

“Finals?”

“Finals is only the start of it,” she said. “I lost my flat, my girlfriend, my car, my pet, my parents… failing finals just means

A Mage teaching their Apprentice an ancient Bio-Hazard Disposal spell for failed experimental breeding subjects (as we all know, the traditional answer for a ridiculous and/or ridiculously dangerous creature is “A Wizard Did It”), and why Australia’s wildlife is so… unique. (At least, according to the rest (Real Life - Australia portion) of the world.

(And some of us)

“Co-ordinatum expelarmus…”

“Co-ordinatUS, expel-ee-ar-am-us,” corrected the master. “One wrong syllable, Mistress

Anywhere in the story:

Some people are like Slinkies - Not really good for anything, but they still bring a smile to your face when you push ‘em down a flight of stairs

(alternatively, substitute “see 'em fall” for “push 'em”)

Sara objected to formal fundraisers at the best of times, and tonight wasn’t one of them. Her target, multi-billionheiress Egypt Ritz[1], was the exact sort of person Sara had grown to despise on

A story in which this:

“It’s time to do the right thing!”
“By which you mean commit a major felony.”
“Think of it as a series of 208 rapidly successive misdemeanors!”

Occurs.

“This is not right,” said Sara.

“It is legal, sweetheart,” said Daddy. They both knew it, but he had to remind her. Her near-reality orbit frequently ignored things like that which was legal.

“That which is legal

Anywhere in the story, possibly as a result of a situation originating from Forge tinkering:

If we can confirm its existence, then it interacts with the physical world. If it interacts with the physical world, we can, theoretically, blow it up.

“Sara Louise Adrien, what a surprise seeing you here,” said the Doctor. He’d just literally run into her as the worlds changed.

“Ah,” said Sara. “You again.”

“Still dimension-hopping?”

“Yes,

Whoever said words can’t hurt you has never been pegged with a dictionary.

Sara was drawn to the child’s tears. She knew that kind of crying, having done a lifetime of it herself.

“Something the matter, dear?”

“…go ‘way.”

Sara knelt. “I promise I won’t tell you that you’re overreacting if you promise not to tell me I can’t understand.”

The kid looked up.

RAF WWII slang: Exdigitate - get your finger out.

(#00113)

There are days when it was fun and exciting to be married to a genius. This was not shaping up to be one of them.

“Come along, darling, you need breakfast.”

Todd opened an eye. There was bacon and eggs and -sweet heaven, thank you- coffee gently steaming on his bedside table. “Mrghl…”

“Exdigitate, dear.”

“Mnnnh…”

Sara dragged him upright and gently

“If at first you don’t succeed, label it version 1.0.”

“Fuck this fucking thing to fucking fuck!”

“Problems?”

“Why did we release this stupid piece of shit?”

Andrews peered over Laslie’s shoulder. “Oh. That. Budget overruns. Time under-runs. Figgis-fiddis. You name it, that one had it. I think we all ended up calling that one Project Icarus at the end.”

“Doomed to crash and burn?”