Flash Fictions: The Show Will Go On

Over Soup

“You’re not like most half-breeds,” she said.

He nodded. “Neither are you.”

She took the soup he passed. “You’re a heavyweight, like most half-orcs. But unlike most of my kind, there’s something about you I trust.”

“And you have a sense of humor.”

“I do.”

Crown of Horns

“It’s killing you.”

On his throne of welded guns, he touches the demonic crown of horns above his brow. “Yes. But with it I am the King of the World. Its savior.”

“Its savior, killing billions in genocide.”

“Savior and Satan, I am one and the same.”

Fresh Games

Little Annette moves her rook. “Checkmate.”

“Indeed,” old witch Aga sighs. “The power of resurrection is a curse. My best friend is in a fresh game, while my board is played-out.”

“Maybe reset your pieces?” Annette asks.

“Begin anew?”

“And we’ll play again.”

Instrument of Destruction

The bard patted his guitar. “This is my weapon. Music.”

“Oh,” Oi-livia said.

She drew and held aloft the Keytar Sword of Casion. “And this is mine!”

The punk-aladin sliced his guitar in two with it.

“Oi, Mate,” she said, perplexed. “That ain’t a good weapon.”

Smugglers

“I quit!” Teed yells. “I don’t want to die an interstellar rum-runner crossing the Prohibition Zone!”

“The smuggling hold is an undetectable design,” Dran says.

Teed points to the ad on the ship.

Dran shrugs. “So?”

“It says, HAVE AN ALCOHOLIDAY!”