A Dozen

Mort motioned to the waitress who took her time getting to the booth.

“Is this place okay?”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I just saw a fly.”

The waitress, with the name ‘Marge’ stenciled on her food-stained uniform, twisted her face.

“Are you sure?”

“I know a fly when I see one. And Claudette saw another one over there.”

Claudette nodded, pointing to the empty counter where a bulbous-headed insect stumbled erratically.

“Only two?”

“What’d you mean ‘only?’”

“Look, I get your point. A dozen or more flies aren't going to be wrong about a diner. But you saw only two in here…

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Upon The Blasted Heath

The three witches planned a hell-broth for Macbeth. Their boiling cauldron was ready for the eye of newt, toe of frog, wool of bat, tongue of dog…

“Wait a minute.”

Hecate, the main chef, added extra frown lines to her wrinkled face.

“Look at the flies on the newt’s eye and frog's toe.”

The dog’s tongue, lizard’s leg, and Howlett's wing were also covered.

“The recipe doesn't call for that many flies.”

So Macbeth passed, on his way to Duncan's camp, undisturbed by the Weird Sisters, but swallowing flies. The bulbous-headed insects were murderously thick that night on the heath.

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Another Boring Dinner

It was another Wednesday night, and…

“What's for dinner, Rayette?”

“We’re going to have Escargot a la Bourguignonne, followed by Confit de Canard, finished off with double-baked cheese soufflé, Ralph.”

“Oh, no… Not Escargot a la Bourguignonne, Confit de Canard, and soufflé again.”

“Come on, Ralph… Don't complain.”

“But couldn't we have something different for a change?… Maybe chicken fingers?”

“You know I don't know how to cook chicken fingers.”

“I could try, Rayette.”

“No, Ralph… The last time you tried chicken fingers, they tasted like Coq au Vin, and you know how much I dislike Coq au Vin.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Getting Off The Island

“What's the matter, Mel?”

“I'm trying to get help for us, Charlie.”

“But I already put a letter in a bottle and threw it in the ocean.”

“What'd it say?”

“I wrote – ‘HELP, WE'RE ON A DESERT ISLAND. ALL WE HAVE TO EAT ARE COCONUTS AND WASHED-UP FISH.’ Then I gave them our last coordinates before the boat sank.”

“But it didn't work.” Mel had a point. They were still eating coconuts and fish heads. “That's why I've written this manuscript. People should respond to a manuscript.”

“But will it fit in a bottle, Mel?”

“Well, Charlie…That's my problem.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

For the prompts Manuscript and Letters

In The Museum

“It's tough being a museum worker, Ed.”

“Yeah, but somebody has to take care of these letters and manuscripts.”

Mel and Ed were two workers in the Antiquities Section.

“No, I mean the flies. These ancient letters are really worthless at swatting the flies in here.”

The museum had a lot of flies.

“You shouldn't be using ancient letters for killing flies, Ed.”

“No?”

“No way…See that one on the table there.”

The creature had a bulbous head.

“You should drop a heavy manuscript on it…Like this.”

He found the older the manuscript, the more squashed the fly.

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

For the prompts Manuscript and Letters

Back From The Correctional Facility

“I took the letters you sent, Ralph, and made them into a book.”

“A book? Or a manuscript, Claudette?”

After six months at the correctional facility, Ralph was finally home.

“Did you like them, Claudette?”

“I guess it's the thought that counts. I couldn't always get your spelling. Sometimes you were in a bad mood.”

“It was food…I kept writing for food.”

He was allowed only a pencil and paper.

“That's great, Claudette. You made a manuscript, and you were faithful to me the whole time.”

“Well, I wouldn't go that far.”

“You mean...You didn't make a manuscript?”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

For the prompt Manuscript and Letter

Eating at Fromkin's

The larvae of beetles and moths – often described as bookworms – enjoy eating manuscripts and printed material. Lem, a Drugstore Beetle larva, Clem, a Cigarette Beetle larva, and Mel, a developing moth, burrowed away at Fromkin's Bookshop, after Al Fromkin locked up the place and drove to his small condo in Northeast Philadelphia.

Lem held his abdomen with four of his legs. “That manuscript was awful.”

“Tell me about it.” Clem had burrowed through several letters Al Fromkin left on his imitation oak desk.

Both were sick as dogs.

Mel smiled. “I finished a 100-word story. I feel pretty good, actually.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

For the prompts Manuscript and Letter.

The PI

“You're a dick, right?”

“Come again?”

“A private investigator?”

Mel sat across from Doris Vandergrift in the living room of her mansion.

“I need to find Reginald.”

“Your husband?”

“Yes. As I mentioned, I have a letter.”

Mel scanned the pages.

“I keep seeing – ‘I need more money.’”

“My 87-year-old husband ran off with Rhonda, our massage therapist. She was always after him for money, as you see.”

“But it's not a letter.”

“What'd you mean?”

“It's more like a manuscript.”

“Does that matter?”

“A manuscript? Yeah...To run down the leads in a manuscript costs a lot more money.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

For the prompts Manuscript and Letter.

The Spelling Bee

It was the Turnersville Third Grade Spelling Bee. Fran Blancowitz squared off against little Mel Fromberg. The auditorium was packed with students, staff, parents, and relatives.

“Mel, spell the word ‘Dog,’ please.”

He managed it slowly.

“Now, Fran, spell the word ‘Letter,’ if possible.”

No problem. 

Next Mel correctly spelled ‘Cat’, after Mr. Atkins, the principal and questioner, used it in a sentence – ‘The cat chased the dog.’

“Fine…Now, Fran, spell ‘Manuscript.’”

She did. But, from the audience, her parents and relatives objected – he was tougher on Susie. 

Mr. Atkins turned to Mel.

“Okay…Spell the name ‘Blancowitz,’ Mel."

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

For the prompts Manuscript and Letter.

Powerful

After finishing his breakfast, Frodo sat by the kitchen recliner, begging for some of Ralph's. Any closer, and the Labrador would've been in his owner's lap. Ralph wondered if the dog considered him an all-powerful being, miraculously dishing out kibble each morning. Soon Ralph would be at his Uncle Frank's dry cleaning business, and no one considers dry cleaners to be all-powerful, although they can easily crush buttons. Frodo drooled on Ralph's crotch, as he thought – What the hell, let him imagine he's a superior being for a moment, as long as he tosses me some of that poppy-seed bagel.

From Guest Contributor David Sydney