Fiction, Monologues, Plays & More
For at least one person in history, the 15th of March turned out to be an inauspicious day. For this month’s blog challenge, write a 100-word story on prophecy, doom, betrayal, or assassination.
The Pagan and the Goddess who Loved Him
by Jeff Folschinsky
Anna Perenna’s last worshipper was dying, and the Roman deity’s heart was breaking. As she watched over her pagan friend, she was hoping his family would look upon him kindly, and not make a mockery of his death. Even though he was a worshiper of the old gods, he always tried to keep a healthy tie to his family, and though his imminent death sadden them, Anna could feel their distain for his faith. It didn’t’ matter though, she would take him to the Elysian Fields. A final reward she could grant to her faithful friend, before she left this world forever.
The Last Horrorscope
by Mark Bate
Today is not your lucky day, Pisces. Don’t bother wearing a coat because the planets have aligned to suck the Earth into the fiery plasma core of the sun. A key word for you today is panic. A good skill to learn in the time you have left would be how to put your head between your legs. No use being restless or grumpy when that car hits you. You will discover a lump in your testicles, Trevor. It’s never too late to start running from a cheetah. The eggs you bought yesterday have already gone bad. PS – LOOKOUT!
Hamlet in Bakersfield
by Chelsea Sutton
Hamlet had just finished confronting his mother about marrying his uncle, and had stabbed his girlfriend’s father, which, Hamlet thought, served him right for being a busybody, when a source four lighting instrument fell from the ceiling grid and onto the head of an old man in the third row, who had been unwrapping lemon candies with his fat, sticky fingers every few minutes for the whole of act one and two. As the ambulance arrived, Hamlet realized that, perhaps, Denmark had been a happy delusion, and Bakersfield had a different concept of fate and vengeance altogether.
by Sean Kozma
Hey, guys. Yeah, it’s a lovely day, isn’t it? Just taking my usual walk. I wasn’t expecting to run into you all, but here we are. Where are you guys headed? Oh, me too. Fancy that. Well, it’s always nice to have some company on these walks, especially with such good men of the city. Fine company. Well, here we are. Let’s go in. Oh, you want me to look at something? Sure. Yeah, everybody crowd around. No problem. Man, I don’t know about you guys, but I have this killer pain in my back right now. Ow!
The Prophecy of the Potato
by Niki Blumberg
Shallow valleys held old earth, the potato’s home turf, nestled up against its starchy, amorphous body. The dirt was a loyal reminder about where the potato came from but its fate was still a question mark, held up to the gods. At this moment, the potato wished to return to the chilled, dark ground. It was safe there.
The bubbles began awakening, slowly at first, but grew and leapt over the walls of the pot. The potato is lowered down menacingly over the boiling water and looks over at the human so nonchalantly letting it go. It thought of the moment, stacked high in the back of the Ralph’s produce section, when it was chosen. Picked out of a homogeneous potato pile. Selected for greatness. As the bubbles overcame, and the old earth turned to mud, it thought that this must be the greatness it was promised.