I remember *real *birds, not pictures.
Mary’s bleeding stopped. She slept alone.
David’s master stroke also proved mortal.
Graft his tongue to the stump.
Mary’s bleeding stopped…as did she.
Tasting the flesh, his anguish erupted.
Disappointed, she said “Is that all?”
You won’t need eyes to plead.
The most evocative 6 word story, to me anyways:
“For Sale. Baby Crib. Never used.”
J.
Thread point, I wonder?
With heaven closed, good was irrevelant.
Yes. You see what I mean. (And tourniquet gives you a nice insight into the speaker.) But I keep thinking that there’s something perfect out there that I’m just not remembering.
I considered thumbscrew, but decided that was trite.
garotte?
stake?
army?
casket?
No, there is no other woman.
Pickaxe?
Your screams can’t wake the children.
As babies went, it was tasty.
Lived.
Laughed, learned, loved, lamented.
Left.
“Why?” she sobbed.
“Because” he mumbled.
I’ve done horror, mystery, and western. So now a six word SF.
Aliens invade Earth. Mankind fights back.
“Baby Missing” read her newsprint shroud.
My head hurt as I stood up.
Her only contraction was in May.
He realized the parachute was damaged.
She saw a brand new color.
The locks were not enough.