50 Word Stories – Outfoxed

50 Word Stories – Outfoxed

“Did you see that fox watching the chickens?”
“No, mum.”
“He was licking his lips.”
“Sorry.”
“Is that all you’ve got to say? He could ruin us, you know!”
“He won’t.”
“Oh, do explain.”
“He’s full.”
“What do you mean, he’s full?”
“I fed him dad’s dinner an hour ago.”

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50 Word Stories – Unsatisfactory

50 Word Stories – Unsatisfactory

“Your clothes are drab bordering on bedraggled. Your beard is uncouth, and if anything ages you. As for your face! Have you forgotten what soap and water are? In short, your return is unsatisfactory.” She ranted, and waved her handbag around the arrivals lounge.
I replied. “Darling, I’m over here.”

Just A Feeling

Just A Feeling

It’s just a feeling, a tingling in the toes. I pull them back and wriggle them around but the tingling remains. Very odd?
I decide to go for a walk marching around the neighbourhood like a demented crow all stiff-legged, feet pointing.
After a mile, I think my strange sensations gone. They haven’t. In a sneaky turn of events, the tingling has travelled up my shins, thighs and settled somewhere else. I wriggle like a bustling chicken. A woman crosses the road.
I walk faster now bordering on a run. If I can just shake it off. I stop dead. I’m turning into Taylor Swift! No, that can’t be right? Sprint.
I hurtle down the main street, turn into the alleyway that runs across the back of our terraces and in through the back gate. I’m knackered. The tingling has gone.
When I say gone, I am in fact lying in the hope it’s my brain carrying out a mentality check because I’m actually tingling all over. Every Richard atom is buzzing like an electrified fence, a hectic rush hour of life.
Life. That’s it. It’s just a feeling. A feeling that it’s good to be alive. I don’t want to run it off, to sprint away into the distance. I want to savour every second and tingle as long as I can.
Yes, it’s just a feeling. But I’m damn glad I’ve got it.

Who Stole My Stripe?

Alternate Title: Richard! What Are You Doing?

As many of you know, I'm a simple guy. I take great delight in often very basic things and express little joy over such monumental purchases as cars, houses and their ilk. In true Yorkshire fashion, 'I like what I like'. So, you can imagine my delight at buying a toothpaste consisting of three coloured stripes: blue; white; green. I'd never had that combination before.
I started using said toothpaste a week ago. Blue and white were the colours that squeezed from that tempting tube; green failed to emerge. I put it down to how it was filled, and though bitterly disappointed realised I would someday soon achieve my three-striped dream. It did not come. I was less than pleased.
This morning I could take no more!
Now, before my rant unfolds, I should also tell you this. I am quite robotic. I do things in certain ways and enjoy the repetition. Towels will always be folded the same way, food packed in cupboards in a set fashion; my timing of getting up, going for a run and other similar events are always the same; if I bash myself, I'll do exactly the same thing again within minutes, and the list goes on. It's just the way I am. If let's say, my wife, should move something even a yard from where it should be, I'm lost in an ocean of confusion. This happens regularly. I just can't help it.
Back to my rant.
I squeezed in anticipation, my tongue in cheek. That green stripe had to be there. It had to! It wasn't. Oh dear, oh dear!
I was on about my tenth curse when my wife risked walking in. She'd heard me and wished to help. Instead of trying to explain, she took my toothbrush and turned it upside down: the toothpaste fell off with a resonating, cataclysmic boom. It did, you know.
And there was my green stripe. I'd squeezed the toothpaste onto my toothbrush exactly the same way each day with exactly the same result; I'd hidden the green stripe. Oops!
In conclusion.
Don't leap into assumptions that you cannot prove. Don't rant and rave over the trivial. Just remember this. Toothpastes only last a few weeks. Don't sully those special times together with anger.

A Richard's Life Production
For an on behalf of Lunatic Studios.
Coming to a supermarket near you.

A Purgatory For Modern Times

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I stepped in a puddle and sank through to somewhere else. There was no sun, no moon, no darkness or light just an incessant glare like a pearlescent lightbulb on a dimmer switch. Panicking, I felt about with the intention of clutching the first tangible object and not letting go; I found nothing. This could be Limbo? I mused. Or perhaps, San Bernadino on a good day? But, with no discernible up or down, no left, right or sideways, I did the only thing I could; I got out my phone and sent a selfie to Facebook. It was just a case of waiting for replies.

The Creeping Terror 


A True Story From My Writing Life

Stardate: 18/07/2017 Richard’s front room.

It began as a tingling that I quickly dismissed as nothing. The tingling continued, so I brushed myself down and carried on typing. A little later, I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye. ‘Pft!’ I huffed, must be going crazy. It happened again. Something black was moving. Ordinarily, I’d have jumped up and wrestled the lion or whatever it was, but I’ve had trouble with my eyes this last week, so dismissed it as wobbly-vision. 

When I felt something crawling up my shorts, I took more decisive action. I placed my iPad to one side, cool as a cucumber, honest, then leapt up. A spider fell out of my shorts and legged it under my writing chair before I could get him. I was not pleased. I like my writing chair and didn’t/don’t want to move. So, the waiting game is on. Who’ll blink first? Who’ll win this war of attrition? And most of all, should I put my trousers on? These are just some of the questions I shall try to answer when I next update you on THE CREEPING TERROR!

Disclaimer: The above Pixabay.com image may or may not be an accurate representation of my foe.