The Wrong Person to Trust


Prompt: A man gets a phone call in the middle of the night asking for sensitive information.

“Good morning Mr. Kenneth, how are you?”

Siire Kenneth groaned as he rolled over.

“Feel like fucking shit. It’s 2 in the morning, this better be good.”

“Sir, I need to ask you a couple questions.”

“Damn it, what did I do this time?”

“Nothing sir, we would just like to know a couple things.”

“Make it quick then.”

“What’s your favorite food?”


“Sorry sir, that’s not the right answer.”

“I should know what the fuck I like to eat.”

“We have down pepperoni pizza.”

“Whatever, fuck you.”

There were beeping noise in the background, awfully like someone typing away on a loud keyboard.

“Favorite color?”

“Hot pink.”

“And Kenneth is spelled with 2 ‘n’s, correct?”


There was more beeping.

“The fuck are you doing with this information? Is there something wrong with my security system?”

“Sir, just one more question, if a chicken crosses the road at 5mph and arrives at the cookie shop in 12 minutes, how many cookies are in the cookie shop?”

“That’s easy, 15.”

“Good. Thank you sir.”

At that moment the door of his bedroom opened up with a click and his wife stepped into the room.

“Oh hold on for a sec, my wife just got back-” He turned to his wife, “Maria! What took you so long.”

To his surprise the voice in the phone spoke along with his wife.

“The key you gave me ran out of batteries.”

“You could have just called me and told me to unlock the door.”

“Yeah and every time you claimed that I was a fake trying to get in to kill you.”

“I-” Siire was left wordless for a moment. It was true. Being constantly under the threat of death, he had a super security system set at his door. Only if you answered all the questions right or if you had a key could you get in. “Well, I’m sorry Maria for not trusting you.”

She only shrugged, putting down the phone.

“Nothing wrong with being cautious. Except,” She suddenly pulled out a gun, “I really am a fake.”


A Bad Omen


Prompt: Two childhood friends meet up after twenty years. After several drinks, one admits to having murdered several people.

I knew today was going to be a bad day. I knew it the moment Mr. Magic Eight Ball told me that all signs pointed to death 6 times in a row even after I gave it one hell of a shake. Not to mention, isn’t 6 the devil’s number? I wish I could have just stayed home, but how in the world were you to convince your boss that a plastic ball filled with inky liquid just predicted your death? So I dragged myself out of bed, brushed up and went off the work highly alert in case any idiot decided to swerve their car into mine and send me to my impending death.

Thankfully, I survived.

I survived work as well.

Yes, there were more mountains of papers than usual, but I didn’t die. No paper cut that wouldn’t stop bleeding, no accidental death burns from the coffee machine. I left work in triumph because I must have escaped my death, which also gave me the bright idea of getting a drink for defying the death gods.

And so here I was drinking, for the third time in my 20 some years of being alive.

“Excuse me mister, would you mind if I joined you?” I looked up with tap on the shoulder, surprised to be staring at the face of a lovely young lady. If I were not so drunk, I would have said no.

“Of course.” I stared into that perfect almond face, those puckered red lips and sparkling hazel eyes. Her hair draped across her shoulders in dark brown waves.

I felt like I knew her from somewhere.

“We know each other.” She said, breaking the silence.


“Remember that next-door neighbor you used to sell lemonade with?”


She broke into a smile.


I froze for a moment, not knowing what to say. As a socially awkward nerd, Shelly was the closest I had to a childhood friend. She was the only person who could tolerate my ramblings of the universe. She took me seriously.

“What brings you here?” I asked. The last thing I heard of her was moving to Texas and then we lost contact. Her mother died when she was still young and her father… I never really did see her father ever.

“I was going to ask you that. I didn’t think you would grow up to be a drinker.” She laughed. “Care to share one with me?”

“Why not?”


As the heavy head of a drunken man banged against the table, the woman sitting across from him finally sets her glass down, having not drunken a single drop. She slides over and slings his arm over her shoulder, half carrying him to an empty room.

She whispers only one thing in his ears as she unbuttons his shirt.

“You asked me what I do as a living.” She pauses for a moment. “I’m only continuing my father’s legacy.”