Fifty word stories part 2

We rarely do something completely and utterly new. Stephen felt unafraid. They had told him one must try everything once. Besides which he was curious: what would it be like? Everything must look different after this once in a lifetime experience. Now was the time; he did it. He died.

an odd case

Only irrational crimes of passion alleviated Sebastian's depression while on the beat. The bishop had never totally submitted to his sexual obsession before. Why a Creole princess? She had loved him passionately, yet one day he strangled her with his diamond rosary as she presented the weather report on television.

ascent

Creeping along the narrow ledge, Roger felt anxious about leaving Stephen behind, forced to abandon the final ascent. He sank the ultimate piton. At last, the summit, and a 360 degree panorama.

He felt a pang of regret his friend couldn't be there. Worse yet, Stephen had kept the camera.

Who, Me?

"There must be some mistake, he thought," were the words he read in the Australian's announcement. In fact this was exactly what passed through his mind as he realised that by penning these fifty words he'd become, at one hundred dollars per word, the highest paid writer in the world.

night alert

"There must be some mistake," he thought absently, as the captain of the diverted Dutch ferry issued a bulletin of disinformation to cover up the midnight drowning of the elderly curate. The waiting riot police were equipped with not rubber, but woollen bullets, this being Australia. The stock-pile, you know.

little ado about nothing

"There must be some mistake," he thought. He was already bored with this essay that would end just thirty-two words later. Nothing but pointless meandering and no interest of any kind. A more serious criticism was that it had no content whatsoever. Finally it would end on the z-word. Zilch.

The change

There must be some mistake, he thought as his body struck the stone wall. This can't be happening to me. I'm too young to die! That moronic bastard ran the lights! Please, let me survive this, I'll really make something of life.

No... I've had it, I'm dead.

What now?

surely not

There must be some mistake, he thought in disgust. Surely it couldn't be a canary yellow, neon-covered, pigeon-oiled, barber pole encrusted, noodle flavoured, partially theft-proof, deep frozen, poodle dispersing, AIDS resistant, mono-unsaturated, invisible to radar, randomly palpitating, overheating and ecologically unsound, dyslexic tall puppy syndrome heavily on Catholic steroids, again.

it

"There must be some mistake," he thought. It sits on his hand, or rather, has his hand in its mouth. Not that he feels pain, the creature is gentle. But stubborn too; won't let go. He doesn't want to antagonise it unnecessarily. Who knows what a chimera is capable of?

is spielberg god?

There must be some mistake, he thought, though it would account for most of human history. The world was just a film-set for a bloodthirsty epic with a cast of billions and a blown-out production budget. Or perhaps its original purpose was submerged in an orgy of empire-building and nepotism.