They tumbled out of her apron and on to the counter—twenty of them, thirty, he wasn’t sure. They looked so innocuous lying there on the counter, the very same counter upon which he rolled out his bread every morning. Rob just stared, gnarled hands ready for action, his fingertips gripped tightly around the handle of a serrated bread knife.

Nothing. No movement. It was hard to believe these were the very same pests that were infesting local stores, where innocent shoppers picked them up without realizing. Every single shop had succumbed to the infestation except his bakery, and now here he was with thirty of them on his own turf. He’d have to scrub the counter for hours to get it clean.

Rob scowled at the girl. “How dare you bring these… these monsters here!”

She had the audacity to shrug. “Everyone else’s got them.”

“I am not everyone else. I refuse to be brainwashed and stand idle while they take over the world. My bakery has standards. I thought you understood that when I hired you last week.” When she just shrugged again, Rob threw his hands up in disgust. Young people these days had no common sense.

“I’ll take them away then, yeah?”

“Yes. Now!”

Rob could not watch her gather the pests back up into her arms, could not watch the way they rolled limply, feigning innocence. He wasn’t going to be fooled; their diminutive size in no way lessened the evil they carried. He waited with his back turned until he heard the tinkle-tinkle of his shop door opening and closing, then let out a long sigh. Their influence was growing daily. His shop assistant had been clean the week before when he’d hired her—all the tests had come back negative. Now she too had succumbed.

Rob shook his head and turned back around, only to freeze in disgust. She’d forgotten one. It was in the corner of the counter, half-tucked behind an empty bread basket. He stared at it, could hardly bring himself to touch it, but the curiosity won through. He had to know how they were doing it, how they were brainwashing the townsfolk into singing their praises.

Rob used the tip of his knife to prod the pest into the centre of his counter. It moved along obligingly, and came to a rest upright, staring at him. There was no time to hesitate: he brought his knife down hard and sliced through the beast’s exoskeleton—or what he thought was the exoskeleton. It had the same composition all the way through to the middle: a spongy body studded with hard white squares. He almost stopped breathing. What manner of beast was this?

He crouched down, brought his face level with the dissected parts. Rob hated to admit it, but looking at this cut up pest he could feel Mother Nature’s guiding touch. Its body, its scent…. It was perfectly engineered to seduce mankind. And the pests continued to develop, to evolve, each generation even more perfect than the last, to the point that Rob felt sure even he would soon be under their thrall.

He was but a simple baker: what he could he do to stop their advance? His wife…. She would have known what to do, would have had a weapon up her sleeve to fight back. But all Rob could do was stare at this sliced up monster and wonder whether he was better off giving in and letting them take their rightful control over his shop. He was nothing without his wife—all of a sudden the solitude of being the last man standing overwhelmed him, and Rob sank down to his knees and wept.

Through his tears he could smell the scent of the sliced-up beast, enticing even after death, sweet like chocolate and smooth like banana. Rob struck out angrily and scattered the body across the shop floor, one last moment of defiance. Tomorrow he would submit to their dominion, but for now—for now…. He stood up, walked around the counter, and ground the pest’s body into the floor.

The tinkle-tinkle of the door announced the shop girl’s return. She took in the scene quietly, glancing from his face to the floor.

Then she shrugged. “Get with the times, gramps. They’re just muffins.”

Written for alphabete
(“chocolate chip banana muffin takes over the world”)

Creative commons via stock.xchng

Dragon suitably beheaded, Prince Charming galloped across the castle moat, brandishing his sword with practiced flair. If only a painter could capture me like this, he thought, picturing the scene: his white stallion frozen mid-leap, neck arched in a perfect curve and mane and tail streaming through the air, him astride in a resplendent scarlet tunic, with a stern profile and smiling eyes.

Wexford—his horse—cantered onwards without instruction, straight into the castle courtyard, his hooves clatter-clattering on the mismatched cobblestones. There he wheeled to a halt and stamped his foot twice.

“Never fear, Princess!” Prince Charming called out, uncertain whether she could hear him but feeling exhilarated at the returning echo of his voice. “I shall rescue you!”

He dismounted, giving Wexford one solid pat on the neck. Wexford ignored him, so Prince Charming ignored Wexford back. He shook his head and walked towards the stairs leading up to the main doorway. “Stupid horse,” he muttered, not paying attention to where he was walking. His suit of armour was so heavy he tripped on the first step and crashed down on his face. Wexford’s loud whinny sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Not to be discouraged, Prince Charming leapt to his feet and stomped all the way up the stairs, pushing the castle doors open and walking inside. Once inside, he stopped and looked around in surprise. He had been expecting an abandoned castle, overrun with weeds and the lazy cobwebs of large, content spiders. Instead he found a neat entrance hall, candles burning brightly in the lamps, and highly polished wooden furniture that gleamed so brightly he could see his face in the reflection.

But there was no time to waste admiring the décor. He had a princess to save! He could already imagine the reunion: her lying asleep on her bed, golden locks cascading over one shoulder, face upturned, waiting for a kiss. He’d walk into her room, lean down and press his lips against hers. Only that could break the curse upon her. Her eyes would flutter open, she’d take one look at him and fall in love. Wexford would carry them home to live happily ever after. Prince Charming smiled self-deprecatingly. The things a man had to do nowadays to find himself a wife!

The highest room of the tallest tower—that’s where Sleeping Beauty was. Prince Charming huffed and puffed his way up the stairs, using his broadsword as a walking stick. When he’d finally reached the top, he was so tired he had to sit down for a few minutes and breathe deeply. Then he got to his feet and walked the last few steps over to the narrow wooden door behind which waited his prize.

Prince Charming put his hand on the doorknob, then hesitated. He pulled out his travel comb and a small towel, wiped his face dry and combed his hair into a neat side parting so that he would look good for the Princess. He knocked out of habit, then pushed open the door and walked in to meet his future wife. Except there was one small problem to his great plan: the bed was empty.

Prince Charming walked over to the bed, stared down at the neatly pressed sheets in abject confusion. Where was she? The instructions had been clear, this is where the wicked witch had left Sleeping Beauty, ready to be rescued. But this bed didn’t even look like it had been slept in! That’s when he noticed the note on the pillow.

He picked it up. Was it a love letter? It didn’t look like the love letters he had seen before. It was not pink, and it didn’t smell like perfume. It smelled like old newspapers, and—when Prince Charming turned the paper around to stare at the back—he realized it was a piece of an old newspaper. It had a completed crossword on the back!

He turned it back around and stared at the no-nonsense handwriting. At least it was easier to read than the usual girly cursive.

Dear Prince Charming, the letter said. I am very sorry not to be waiting for you as you wanted me to. The thing is, I knew the witch was going to poison me so I took an anti-sleeping-potion beforehand. At first I spent a lot of time playing and teaching myself languages like ogrish.  Then I got bored waiting for you to rescue me. So when I heard that Prince Dashing was captured by ogres when he was out fishing, I thought I’d go rescue him instead. I hope you don’t mind. If you want, you can wait here until I get back.
Lots of love, from Sleeping Beauty.

Prince Charming sat down on the bed and let the letter fall to the floor. Now what was he going to tell his parents?

Inspired by the wonderful 7-year-old Alexia.

Amelia held her breath as she entered the town’s local pub. Being back home was always difficult, but this time — with the prospect of meeting her childhood sweetheart and eternal crush Mark before her — her return to Lincoln was more anxiety-inducing than usual. Childhood friends had a way of bringing out the worst in her, with the way their eyes saw right through her successes to the unpopular teenage geek she’d once been.

Deirdre was the first to notice her; she approached Amelia at a slow waddle, one hand curved protectively around her lower belly, her mouth already pursed with gossip. Escape was impossible.

“Fancy seeing you here for New Years’,” Deirdre said, crinkling up the outer corners of her eyes in what passed for a smile. “Geneva not cutting it for you anymore?”

How everyone would have relished her failure, to see her brought down to their level, a level of teenage pregnancies and university dropouts. “I’m just home for the holidays,” Amelia replied, adding, “I’ve been promoted to senior partner so my schedule’s become far more flexible.” Just saying the words made her feel small and spiteful, but there was a certain vicious pleasure mixed in with the guilt.

“Keep that quiet around Mark,” Deirdre replied with a sly smile. “Looking for a wife, he is, though as I hear it he’s already got someone in mind.”

Mark was still single? No amount of internal scolding could settle the sudden butterflies in Amelia’s stomach when she caught a glimpse of him, smiling right at her as he manoeuvred his way through the crowded room.

“Only you would be so brave as to come here alone,” Mark said when he reached her, his attention so obviously focused on Amelia that Deirdre excused herself and left.

Pleased, Amelia stepped that little bit closer to Mark, her stomach flip-flopping at their proximity. “Quite brave, yes.” Red had always been a good colour on Mark; he looked good — he smelled good! Small talk be damned, she wanted to close those final few inches between them, but did he?

“TEN!” everyone shouted, breaking the moment between them.

Under the clamour of people counting down the last few seconds of the year, Amelia felt her heart begin to pound. Very few women had held Mark’s attention for long, and Amelia was nothing like those that had: not blond nor leggy nor outdoors-y. Wife-seeking or not, would Mark even consider her as anything more than an old classmate and friend?

XKCD had a funny comic about this, she thought, trying to distract herself from the thought that he wouldn’t want to kiss her, that they were still “just friends”. Yet when she turned her head to the side to look at him, there he was, staring right at her.

“Zero,” Mark whispered, and then he pressed his lips against hers.

My favourite — the ABC Challenge!

There was a glitch in the automatic translator, but I didn’t realize until it was too late.

I got down on one knee, held up the opal engagement ring I’d been carrying around for weeks, and watched her face freeze halfway between shock and joy, the dimple in her cheek hesitant, her lips quivering with one word. I dropped my eyes to the floor, and out of my lips stumbled the carefully prepared speech, mangled beyond recognition.

Silence. Deafening silence.

When I looked up she was already gone.

Cross posted from Six Sentences.