Signs and Symbols& came rushing in.
HomonymsDarren was carefully pouring a jug of water into his biology textbook.
WordsThe meeting of the support group was taking place in the Dusty Dictionary—a refuge from the world for the archaic and lesser-used words in the English Language.
I've Really Lost My MindThe young man smiled, with just a touch of embarrassment. “I seem to have lost my mind.”
The Prosecution Rests"You? Doing jury service?" grinned John, reading his flatmate's letter.
Dancing MenSherlock strode into the living room, wearing a kilt. It revealed rather a lot of thigh—the effect being more Mary Quant than Rob Roy.
Leave A MessageSherlock was galloping through his deductions when Lestrade’s phone rang.
Trailing BehindJohn hadn’t been able to drop off at all in the caravan. Sherlock, conversely, was sleeping like a baby. Up every two hours and making a hell of a racket.
Pre-inventing the WheelLon was an I.T support worker. He was also a caveman, so perhaps it would be more accurate to call it lowercase ‘t’ support.
FFM July 2 2014The Baby-Napper
FFM 2014 12: Mr. Sinungalingsi∙nu∙nga∙ling (Filipino)
BabydollPropping my daughter against the towel on my shoulder, I rhythmically pat her back. Nevaeh's just had her second bottle of the day, and try as I might, I still can't get her to burp. Today is no different, and in the end I give up, wipe her small round mouth, and pop her in the bouncer for a while. It's the electric kind, with a soft lullaby and swinging motion, so I know she'll be entertained while I get on with the mountain of washing that needs to be folded.
Before the Black Throne There was a rattle of chains as the rusty iron cage dropped from the ceiling. It was accompanied by the rattling laugh of the Dungeon Lord himself. The same mechanism that had dropped the cage over the great stone altar had also revealed his terrible black throne.
FFM 2014, July 5 - BoxesThe answering machine was blinking red. Elaine stared at it. Aside from the streetlight through the blinds, it was the only thing with a light on in the apartment. There was nothing to turn on. Everything was in boxes. Her sofa, her bed, all covered in boxes. She’d tried to unpack, after her brother had left with the rental van, but somehow every thing she pulled out of the damned boxes reminded her of him. Of them. The worst was the box with all the framed pictures – why had she even packed them? Elaine felt the tears well up again. For the last week all she’d done was cry, until her migraines became pre-emptive.
FFM#5 [Challenge] -- Newsreader“Bloody hell, where’s Richard.”
FFM 2014: PulaOnce upon a time in in a small village in Botswana, there was a little girl named Lesedi who was very naughty.
Revised Alice Scene “Well that was odd.” the girl said, landing on her feet. She didn't address this to anyone specifically, but to no one in particular. She seemed to be standing on a large table, covered almost completely filled with tea dishes and plates of food.
“No room! No room!” someone shouted.
“I’ll just have to sit on the table then.” She said sitting down cross-legged where she was. She looked around the table. Each chair was different and most were empty. Three at the end were occupied, a regular dining chair, a three legged stool and a comfortable looking armchair.
“Hullo.” she said addressing a tall hare in a suit.
“You mustn't sit on the table.” the occupant of the armchair spoke up, a little blond girl wearing an old fashioned dress.
“Whyever not?” she replied “They said there was no room.”
Getting Down"Sherlock, are you planning on getting down from there?"
"In a moment, John."
"You can't, can you?"
"Don't be an idiot."
"All right then, do it."
"Shut up, I'm thinking."
"How did you get up there in the first place?"
“Don’t tell me you can’t remember!”
“I wasn’t going to say that!”
“Stay right where you are.”
"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?!"
Hidden TalentsDouglas: 'Diamonds Are Forever Young'.
Martin: Um, let's see...
Douglas: 'Remains Of The Day Of The Triffids'.
Martin: Douglas, give me a chance! W-wait, I have one: 'Village Of The Damned Yankees'.
Douglas: Hmm, it could work...
Douglas: Except for the fact that it's 'Damn Yankees'.
Arthur (enters Flight Deck): Coffee, chaps?
Martin: Thank you, Arthur. ‘Third Star is Born’?
Douglas: Bit of a stretch, wouldn’t you say?
Arthur: What are you playing now?
Martin: ‘Combined Movie Titles’.
Douglas: Martin named it. It’s certainly original.
Martin (exasperated sigh): Care to give it a go, Arthur?
Arthur: Brilliant! Ah, how about: 'Georgy Girl With The Dragon Tattoo'?
Martin: Arthur, that's...
Douglas: Rather creative.
Arthur: Oh, or: ‘The Princess Bride of Frankenstein’?
Douglas: Yes, well--
Arthur: ‘12 Angry Men in Black’. I must say, this is quite fun!
Principals of the BizarreIsaac Newton paced about his home, trying to suppress his panic. How could he have lost such a huge manuscript? Granted, his home was a mess of experiments and other papers, but he had been careful to keep primary project secure and close at hand. It wasn’t where he thought he’d last put it. Of course, it was getting harder to think with that whirring noise drilling into his head.
He turned to the tall man with the long scarf leaning over his fireplace, tapping the stones and probing the mortarwork with his noisy little device.
“Doctor,” he said. “Have you seen my manuscript?”
His houseguest looked up at him with his wild blue eyes. “Which one?”
“The one I have been working on these last three years,” he said. “The Principia.”
The Doctor held up two fingers the approximate thickness of the manuscript. “The one yea big?”
“Oh, that one.” The Doctor returned his attent
Sherlock chickensWhy did the chicken cross the road?
John: Chickens don't cross roads. In real life, chickens don't cross roads.
Moriarty: That's what chickens DO!
Sally Donovan: It's not paid or anything. It must get off on it.
Lestrade: And exactly how many times DID it cross the road?
Anderson: Now, look. Whatever that chicken is implying-
Sherlock: That's not a chicken, Anderson, it's a thoroughbred domesticated duck. Do your research!
The Lord gathered all the writers and divided them into four groups.
To the first group He said, “You will be novelists and you will make a living from your work.”
To the second group He said, “You will be poets and people will admire and be moved by your work.”
To the third group He said, “You will write short stories and people will enjoy your work.”
And to the final group He said, “You will write flash fiction and… Yes, well, sorry about that.”
My name is Frankles. I'm a writer specialising in flash fiction.
(When I get called home, there are going to be words.)
I am a mod for Sherlock60 on LJ: a community for writing 60 word ficlets based on the 60 stories in the Conan Doyle Sherlock Holmes canon.
Unless a man is in part a humorist, he is only in part a man.