Ladies and Gentlemen, another brief collection of FPs for your consideration. I’ve done this sort of thing before, here and here. I’ve started to collect them together (in a journal … like a grown up!), and the ones below are a mix of the relatively recent and some from waaaaaay back. Some are from that dark, terrifying time before the splendid @willowbecker and @amicgood created an archive via the wonderful fridayphrases.com, allowing us all to enjoy these golden days of creativity without any Bothans dying to bring us the information.
Being able to catch up with the genius of my fellow FP-ers aside, the archive has been really useful to me in collating my own fictions, but the whole “shoot from the hip” nature of my FP efforts means that I don’t have any notes or record of the earlier stuff except for the e-mail notifications that Twitter kindly provides. They’re all there, somewhere, and I’m using this blog to help me keep track of the ones that I find, an archive within An Ark Hive (Do you see what I did there? Of course you did, you’re brilliant!)
Trapped in the car, stunned, he managed to dial 999. He didn’t realise the phone was upside down until the demon paramedics arrived.
They ran, and screamed, and one even tried to shoot her in the head, but the vegetarian zombie just wanted a hug.
The money from his will paid for ballroom lessons. She was determined that when she danced on his grave, she did it well.
Lost in fog and boarded by pirates. One of them even had an eyepatch, its leather strap looped around the curve of his horns.
The Ferryman cued the ipod, the one he’d taken from the last girl across the river. Music filled the cavern. “You know it’s you, babe …”
The puppets danced and played, their strings ascending into empty shadows. The puppeteer had died ten years earlier.
She twitched, half conscious, the blisters covering her flesh bulging liquidly. The demon watched her, the nervous, expectant father.
“You see, Mr Logan AKA Wolverine, we are good mutants fighting an evil mutant with whom I used to be friends.” said Professor Xposition.
He’d bled a great deal for such a small boy. “Now, where were we?” said the Teacher to the children. “Oh yes! Finger painting!”
A month too long & too short, too busy and too quiet. He disturbed the dust on the mantle replacing Get Well cards with words of Sympathy.
She moved from patient to patient with the syringe. When the real nurse returned, she found a ward full of corpses.
“So, John is this week’s £1000 winner with his cyanide-filled dessert, with a score of 5 bodies! Stay tuned for more Come Die With Me!”
A sky full of fire and smoke and sulphur. Everyone thought the fireworks had ignited too early, but the invasion had already begun …
They touched slashed palms, as blood brothers do. But when Ben couldn’t move, his life drawn from one cut to another, he screamed …
The Zombie had been buried in 1986, in his best suit, and now his victims saw past the rot to mock him. “Dude … Is that a piano tie?”
The car finally stopped, amid a fiery maelstrom of sulphur and screams. “You have reached your destination.” said the Satan-nav.
She feared that when she died the cats would feed, rough tongues polishing flesh from bone. That’s why she ate them first.
He was the King of the Werewolves, a fearsome beast, but every full moon, he turned into a human with an insatiable hunger for ice-cream.
He recorded screams and sampled the best, changed pitch and speed until the track was finished, a karaoke for killing.
My nerves were frayed, but I had to laugh when my own reflection in the window made me jump. Then I realised there wasn’t any glass.
A vampire in Vegas. He’d hide now, maybe fake his own death. Leaving the building, he drawled a clue. “Fang you … Fang you very much.”
His final wish was a burial at sea. They sailed into a gently glowing fog. One by one the mourners perished. Only the corpse came back.
I put down my toothbrush and rinsed my mouth at the tap. After a minute, I spat the cold water out. Incredibly, the spider had survived.
Maybe a superhero-themed pub crawl wasn’t the best idea, but we DID get to see Wolverine get his ass handed to him by Bananaman!
A bath of ice. A hangover. Crude stitches. Thoughts of organ theft. But no, his belly was swelling, the stitches popping one by one …