He snapped his fingers…in half.
No man may defeat me! Girl?!
Conan. Girl. Altar. Cultists. Demon. Kiss.
My life began after I died.
Funeral wreaths make poor wedding bouquets.
Casually he turned over his aces.
“Don’t trust the baby!” she shouted.
*My wife actually said this, several years ago, while sleeping.
Very good.
Marriage, he knew, meant an alibi.
The geoducks never returned.
The hotel housekeeper could only speculate.
It ended with tears… and superglue.
Heaps more at http://www.sixwordstories.net/
Some nice ones:
She was lovely. Then things changed.
More money, more bitches, more problems.
Woke up early. Reached work late.
Religious differences. Man dumped for God.
“I do,” lied bride and groom.
Threw rock at mirror. Reflection screamed.
Nothing to declare. Much to remember.
Lost my wallet, found my desires.
Man finds immortality. Names it Abigail.
I came. I saw. I conquered.
—Julius Caesar
Her? With him? Really?!
Something I never told anyone is … (too bad we can only use 6 words)
Like big butts, I cannot lie.
Beauty may fade, bitterness is loyal.
The corpse had a lovely afterglow.
Only the sentient cows protested him.
My cousin really and truly put an ad like this in a local paper after her third husband’s death:
Expensive pistol, cheap. Only used once.
they were short on lifeboats.
Nice.
She emptied my ashtray, and wallet.
“Sorry mate, I didn’t see you.”
Motorcyclists know this as SMIDSY.
Saw honey badger, did not care.
This story’s just six words long.
(With apologies to Al Yankovic.)