Adverb Writing Challenge
Mike Scott Thomson & Chris Fielden, looking devilishly handsome (hmm...) after undertaking the long and arduous journey to Hull
Welcome to Mike’s Not-Entirely-Serious Wantonly-Rule-Breaking Adverb Writing Challenge
Welcome to Mike's Not-Entirely-Serious Wantonly-Rule-Breaking Adverb Writing Challenge. Like its creator, it's very simple (sorry, Mike...). And fun too.
Rules & How To Enter
This is a flash fiction challenge. Here are the rules:
- 100 words max
- please include a title for your story (not included in word count)
- try and use as many adverbs as you can
- entry is FREE
- anyone can enter
- no more than 1 entry per person please
- no profanity please - the competition has been shared with schools/children
- your adverb-riddled tales will be published on this page
- every time we receive
100500 stories, we'll publish all of them in a book - any money made through anthology sales will go to charity
- by submitting, you accept the terms and conditions
- when anthologies are published, you will be involved in the book launch process
- submit your story by filling in the comments form at the bottom of the page or by emailing me
- include a short biography (40 words max) for use in the published book - if you don't supply a bio, we will be unable to publish your story
- include 1 link (optional) to your website, LinkedIn, Facebook, Twitter etc.
So far, we've received 588 entries. We need 412 more to publish the next anthology.
The first anthology – Adverbially Challenged Volume 1 – was released in November 2016. It contains the first 100 stories submitted to the challenge.
Adverbially Challenged Volume 2 was released on 30th March 2017. It contains another 100 stories.
Adverbially Challenged Volume 3 was released on 17th March 2018. It contains another 100 stories.
Adverbially Challenged Volume 4 was released on 16th March 2019 . It contains another 100 stories. You can hear one of the stories from the book, called 'Man Pants Grenade', on the Superfast Stories YouTube channel:
Adverbially Challenged Volume 5 was released in November 2020 . It contains yet another 100 stories.
We will release Volume 6 when we have received 1,000 stories.
You can learn how to buy the books below.
Mike and I would like to thank everyone who has submitted stories for their support – it is very much appreciated 🙂
Proceeds generated by anthology sales will be donated to First Story.
First Story supports and inspires creativity, literacy and confidence in UK secondary schools where over 50% of the pupils are considered deprived. The charity helps young people nurture and develop their creative writing skills.
Below is a letter we received from First Story after we made the first donation payment to them in January 2017. I'm sharing it here so that all the writers and readers who have contributed to this project can read it:
Dear Chris and Mike,
I am writing to thank you for your donation of £101 towards First Story’s programme, made following the impressive sale of 101 anthologies. It is incredibly generous of you to donate the proceeds of Adverbially Challenged Volume 1 sales to First Story, and we are delighted to hear that you have already received many entries for Volume 2. Your support will make a significant difference to our work with young people and we are truly grateful.
As you know, First Story aims to bridge the creativity gap by bringing writers into schools serving low-income communities.Through participating in writing residencies and other writing activities, our students are flourishing in confidence and creativity, developing key skills that will underpin their future success.We’re presently running 70 writing residencies, working with 1,500 students in the East Midlands, South West, London, Hull and West Yorkshire.
The impact First Story has on students is truly extraordinary and it can enhance the quality of their lives. Our work simply would not be possible without those, like you, who share our vision and ambition for young people.
Yours sincerely,
Mónica Parle
Executive Director, First Story
What Is An Adverb?
An adverb is a word that is used to describe an adjective, verb or another adverb. They are commonly referred to as 'words ending in ly', although not all of them do.
Adverbs are often overused by amateur fiction writers. Hence, a common writing tip is 'don't overuse adverbs'. For example, Stephen King advises this in his book, On Writing, A Memoir Of The Craft.
I made the mistake of overusing them when I started out in writing and learnt the hard way that editing most of them out of your prose can vastly improve your writing. That said, don't feel you can't use them at all. You can, just don't over do it.
You can learn lots more about adverbs in this very useful resource by Your Dictionary.
And here is a bit of video advice I gave about adverbs on the Superfast Stories YouTube channel.
How The Adverb Writing Challenge Came To Be
Mike and I first met through the To Hull & Back humorous short story competition. Mike won the inaugural contest and travelled to Hull when I made the first winner's video.
Mike & Chris at the To Hull & Back anthology book launch
About a year later, Mike wrote a post for my blog, featuring his short story Me, Robot which was published by The Fiction Desk. Part of the post talks about the 'rules' of best practice for fiction writing, one of which is – you guessed it – don't use too many adverbs. While we were discussing this by email, we thought it might be fun to create a challenge that wantonly breaks this rule. We're such rebels geeks...
And so, the Adverb Writing Challenge was conceived and born. Originally, the challenge comprised part of Mike's post.
We decided that if we received 20 entries, we'd create a dedicated page to the challenge. We hit that milestone on 24th June 2016, hence this page exists.
We decided that if we received 1oo entries, we'd release an anthology. We hit that target on 3rd August 2016. Since then the submissions have continued to pile in. We have published a whole series of books and are currently accepting submissions for Adverbially Challenged Volume 6.
If we receive 1,000 entries, we'll release the next book and, as always, the proceeds will go to charity. If we don't receive 1,000, it's a bit of fun, you can read all the stories here on the site and you now know about the fabulous First Story charity and might donate to them in the future.
Win, win, win.
Adverb Riddled Stories
Below are all the stories that have been submitted, crammed to exploding point with unnecessary adverbage. They are published in the order in which they were received.
Adverbially Challenged Volume 1
The first 100 stories submitted to the Adverb Challenge were removed from the site on 1st October 2016. They are now available to read in Adverbially Challenged Volume 1.
You can learn how to buy the book and support charity here.
The book contains stories written by 91 different authors.
Profits from sales will be donated to the First Story charity every 3 to 6 months, depending on the volume of books sold. You can see how much has been raised by all the challenges run on this website on the main Writing Challenges page.
Adverbially Challenged Volume 2
The second collection of 100 stories submitted to the Adverb Challenge were removed from the site on 1st February 2017. They are now available to read in Adverbially Challenged Volume 2.
You can learn how to buy the book and support charity here.
The book contains stories written by 72 authors who reside all over the planet.
All future anothologies will contain stories by 100 writers as we are now limiting submissions to 1 per person.
For the sake of history, here are the opening notes Mike and I wrote when we opened submissions for the second anthology.
An opening note from Chris Fielden
Sadly, the legendary Allen Ashley regrettably missed out on the deliciously tempting target of submitting story number 100 to the Adverb Challenge. Ironically, his delightfully entitled story 'The Final Word' will open Adverbially Challenged Volume 2. Somehow, I feel this is fitting for this splendidly silly test of tantalisingly titillating adverb usage.
And from Mike Scott Thomson
So, we made it to 100 (and beyond)! Thanks so much to everyone for contributing to this undoubtedly daft, but indubitably satisfying challenge - and I'm sure First Story will be pleased too. Very much looking forward to Adverbially Challenged Vol 1 being released in November, just in time – hopefully – for the filling of stockings (Yulely).
And as for Volume 2, in the spirit of wantonly-rule-breaking, I couldn't think of a more appropriate story to kick things off than one called "The Final Word". Verily, I see great things ahead.
Adverbially Challenged Volume 3
We received our 300th story on the 11th of November 2017. The third collection of stories were removed from the site on the 3rd of January 2018. Adverbially Challenged Volume 3 was published in March 2017.
You can learn how to buy the book and support charity here.
An opening note from Chris Fielden
Splendidly, we've received 200 adverb riddled stories. We're now carefully traversing the cobbly road towards 300 stories. Writers are still generously submitting their imaginatively conceived tales, so undoubtedly we'll acheive our goal. Thanking you all muchly.
And from Mike Scott Thomson
Gratifyingly, I sincerely wish to humbly and rapidly convey my...
Wait, I don't have to do that in this bit. Phew.
I would like to echo Chris's sentiments: a massive thank you to everyone who's submitted to our challenge, and/or bought a copy of Volume 1 so far. It's wonderful to see so many have got involved, and for such a good cause. Stay tuned for Adverbially Challenged Volume 2, coming soon.
Right now, I'm looking forward to seeing what entries we receive for volume 3. We live in interesting times; I doubt there'll be any lack of inspiration on that front. Although if you can't bear to turn on the news right now (and who could blame you), the Official Internet Default Option is also to be very much encouraged: cats. At the time of writing, we already have two feline-related stories out of five. More, please.
Thank you and meow.
Adverbially Challenged Volume 4
We received our 400th story on the 19th of December 2018. The fourth collection of stories were removed from the site on 14th of January 2019. Adverbially Challenged Volume 4 was published in March 2019.
You can learn how to buy the book and support charity here.
An opening note from Chris Fielden
Delightfully, our first tantalising trilogy of adverbially overloaded stories is complete. Onwards and, quite tritely, upwards - may Volume 4 bring more adverb infested joy to the planet.
And from Mike Scott Thomson
He says incredulously (but very gratefully): wow, we’ve made it to over 300 and a FOURTH book of adverb-stuffed stories? Heavens.
Well, thank you to everyone who’s made written contributions to - and generously bought the books resulting from - our not-entirely-serious literary project. Not only is it great to see First Story continue to be supported in this way, but also heartening to discover just how many writers there are out there more than willing to flout the so-called writing “rules”. Fun, isn’t it? Onwards we go, wantonly…
Adverbially Challenged Volume 5
We received our 500th story on the 17th of August 2020. The fifth collection of stories were removed from this page on 31st August 2020. Adverbially Challenged Volume 5 was published in November 2020.
You can learn how to buy the book and support charity here.
An opening note from Chris Fielden
400? Unquestionably. 500? Likely. 600? Possibly. More? Probably.
And from Mike Scott Thomson
He says unnecessarily sesquipedalianly: we've now eclipsed a score-squared of adverbially-engorged anecdotes? Amazing - thank you one and all.
Adverbially Challenged Volume 6
You can read the current submissions for Adverbially Challenged Volume 6 below.
Story 501
Shard And Freud
by Mike Scott Thomson
Precariously, precipitously, Sigmund leans backwards. Counterintuitively he descends, ropes releasing repetitively, tightening compulsively, towards the ground, terrifyingly, so far below.
Incongruously, the shimmering tower reflects a city verifiably not Vienna, the epoch evidently not his. Feet on glass, horizontally, he sways: death drive tantalisingly taunting id, body transparently unmasking the mind.
Ich will zu meiner Mami, he dreams, tearfully. Who placed him suchly, so suddenly, obscenely deriving pleasure from the misfortune of others?
Sigmund looks up, tentatively. This edifice is phallic – obviously. He knows, sadly: there is no pleasure in this principle, as he edges, inescapably, towards the void.
Story 502
The Disturbingly Deviously Dreadful, Decidedly Dastardly Dragon…
by Christopher Fielden
…was perched upon a mountain ledge, silently surveying the lands below, stomach gurgling hungrily when lunch unwittingly loped courageously into view.
A knight approached gallantly, clad in ridiculously shiny armour. "Tell me thy name before I smite thee, lizard," he said cruelly.
"Deirdre," she replied calmly, "the Dastardly."
"What a stupendously stupid name for a disgustingly vile dragon," the knight said spitefully. He roared laughter heartily, dropping his sword accidentally due to guffawing maniacally.
Deirdre spewed fire ferociously, immediately barbecuing the knight perfectly. She seasoned him lightly.
Chomp.
Gulp.
Buuuuuuurp.
"I do beg your pardon," she said to herself demurely.
*
You can listen to this story on the Superfast Stories YouTube channel:
Story 503
Reflectively Conversing
by Lesley Anne Truchet
Dear extremely carnally active, newly-married couple, living directly opposite.
I'm emphatically certain that all the diversely ethnic residents within our conveniently situated housing complex are truly delighted with the cleverly designed, replacement one-way vision-privacy windows, recently installed in every apartment. It's really agreeable to have seclusion 24/7.
Personally, I thoroughly enjoy standing at my window, freely making offensively rude signs at people quietly passing by, knowing that they cannot actually see me. It certainly helps relieve my stress.
This note is to discreetly inform you that the window in your bedroom was unfortunately and inappropriately installed facing the wrong way.
Story 504
Upon Arrival
by Michael Rumsey
It was the first night of our honeymoon.
Impatiently, I turned to Trevor and said lovingly and not at all jokingly but as calmly as I could, "Right, my perfectly proportioned and superbly athletic man, let's do it quickly. I just can't wait."
Predictably we did, eagerly, willingly, joyfully and enthusiastically. Having parked the car carefully, we hastily unloaded our luggage as I suggested. With wildly beating hearts, we breezily ran into the brilliantly lit hotel foyer. I just could not wait to officially and legally book in as Mr & Mrs Ward.
Story 505
Rousingly I Awoke
by Neil Davie
Head pounding furiously, I groggily heave myself out of bed. I stumble drunkenly towards the door, awkwardly pulling on the jumper haphazardly left on the floor as I go. The handle taunts me jeeringly until I finally get a grip on it and open it dramatically.
Squinting blearily into the light, I clamber warily down the stairs. Whoever is knocking incessantly shows no interest in stopping. Approaching, a figure standing menacingly behind the front door comes into view.
Opening it slowly, a man confidently brandishing a clipboard greets me enthusiastically.
"Would you like to sign this petition on noise pollution?"
Story 506
A Day To Remember
by John D Lary
The photographer fussily arranges the line-up. "Parents now, quickly please."
They gather distractedly outside by the barn: mother-in-law, crimson lips grimacing unconvincingly; father-in-law, dressed uncharacteristically formally, his hands held uncertainly by his sides; brother-in-law, pressed unpreparedly into the best man role, sweating royally in the strong sunshine.
Standing centrally amongst them is Jack's newly-crowned wife, her face painted vengefully by the maid of honour, so that she appears inappropriately more Japanese doll than blushing bride.
Jack's own friends linger listlessly inside, by the hopefully soon-to-be open bar.
Abandoned, the bridegroom turns despondently away, his eyes seeking out distant horizons.
Story 507
Insincerely Apologetic
by Clare Tivey
Unfortunately, it's 'come as your hero day' in the store. Spiderman and the unicorn's parents are suspiciously missing.
Anxiously explaining to parents that this year's fervently wanted toy is sold out, predictably replicates this...
"Honestly, imagine my child's face when I regretfully explain that Santa has selfishly forgotten him." She says this intensely, wincing because the unicorn has appeared and is gleefully, repeatedly kicking her ankle.
Sheepishly apologising, "I'm dreadfully sorry, madam. A New Year delivery?"
This is met by a furiously face-melting glower, before she purposefully stomps away, because, unquestioningly, a stomp always conveys that you're annoyed.
Story 508
Not Today
by Sasha Klyueva
I have never felt it before. It held me with cold and bony fingers. It deliberately, tenaciously, strongly and painfully squeezed my hand.
It was just the two of us. Its heavy night breathing sounded in my ears like a terrible and creaking noise.
It was fear. My fear. He desperately, mercilessly and furiously tried to break me. I looked at him with a calm, reasonable and indifferent look.
Not today.
I am stronger. I am better. I am the fear.
Story 509
Attention Please
by Lorna Gillies
Perching primly on the edge of the table, the student teacher watched as the characteristically boisterous students noisily took their places.
Over confidently addressing the class, she found them surprisingly more difficult to control than she had naively assumed they would be. They giggled mercilessly as she impatiently and unsuccessfully tried again. She stood up assertively to convey authority but sadly, farted violently as she rose.
The children laughed uproariously as she rushed quickly from the room, but the laughter died rapidly as their usual teacher moved swiftly to the front of the room and glared disapprovingly at the students.
Story 510
In The Clubhouse
by Allen Ashley
Mel tidied busily but Donald moaned constantly. "I won that election fairly and squarely. I know for definite who voted for me. I demand a recount. Immediately."
"You did your job brilliantly as president, Donald, but it's Joe's turn now. Unfortunately." She gently placed a cup of tea by his elbow, slipped a Christmas chocolate liqueur stealthily from her handbag.
Donald would get over it. He was just venting, surely? Once the holidays were over, they'd both settle back into their old roles as greenkeepers at Trumpington Bowls Club. Comfortably.
Who would've guessed retirement would bring so much stress? Daily.
Story 511
The Unusually Dark Lighthouse
by Lyla Laon
He hated the light incredibly. How it anxiously pulsed and invariably waved; it made him excessively furiously enraged.
He hated especially the trembly cold glass that shuddered feverishly against the seas draft that carelessly thundered again and again, like banshees angrily transporting triumphantly salty crests of frolicking misery, over and over, repeatedly, consistently battering at him, rattling and chortling him, constantly prying and invading him.
He hated being a lighthouse, insufferably.
Story 512
A Berry For Bongo
by Michelle Peet
Eagerly, the toddler grabbed the berry and ran exuberantly, shouting excitedly, "Daddy."
He scooped her up effortlessly and held her aloft so she could easily see the strikingly striped bongo.
Impulsively, she threw the berry over the impressively lofty fence, into the bongo's exceptionally expansive enclosure.
Regretting it immediately, she watched on forlornly, crying inconsolably, as her fabulously fruity find looked destined to became a mid-morning snack.
Daddy nimbly jumped the fence to bravely retrieve the berry, running quickly as the bongo chased him frustratedly. He leapt deftly to safety, and relievedly returned his daughter's preciously prized berry.
Story 513
Every Cloud
by Maggie Elliott
Stacey never left home barefaced. Always receiving compliments on her makeup, she frequently offered tips to classmates.
Usually thrilled at impromptu school closures, the sudden lengthy one following a pandemic meant she rarely got to see friends and missed the admiration.
She liked to read but seldom posted to social media, but during lock-down her mother suggested occasionally making a podcast offering makeup tips.
Complying, her podcasts were generally popular, hardly ever producing negative feedback.
A contract with Harper's Bazaar as an online beauty consultant beckons when she finishes her education.
Just shows, every cloud has a silver lining.
Story 514
Ransoming Georgie
by Lee Kull
She shakily reached for the loudly ringing telephone, indecisively hesitated, then finally answered it. "Hello?"
After a deadly pause, she fearfully listened to the darkly spoken words from the mysteriously muffled voice. He threateningly demanded where to bring the kingly ransom.
"Put him on," she sobbingly croaked.
After being noisily passed around, she heard somebody heavily breathing.
"Georgie?" she tearfully queried. He whimped slightly before the tightly gripped phone went completely dead.
The darkly lit, dankly wet night was suitably chosen. The exchange went flawlessly. Crying joyously, she tightly embraced Georgie. He kissed her face wetly. "I love you, poodly-woodly."
Story 515
An Agitated Morning
by Jessica Ann George
Frantically, I pulled at my dead-asleep hand, slamming aggressively on the alarm.
The time: 11:25am.
I desperately jumped from my stylishly untidy bed, pulling open my closet with flair. Equally awoken, properly ironed clothes dramatically rested on my bed.
Hastily, I ran to the toilet – you know what happens there – desperately figuring out what I'll wear. 360° of disoriented, I clumsily dropped my toothbrush into my bag. That's 'Task One' at HQ.
Making a run for my ride, I finally reached. Donning some improbably unmatching clothes, terribly defocused, yet claiming with poise, "Sorry I'm late guys, had a meeting."
Funny, they never believed me.
Story 516
Just Another Typically Wintery North Sea Storm
by Mark Rutherford
The ship violently pitched and rolled aggressively as the towering walls of darkly ominous waves, topped with frosted crests of boiling white, bullied and harried the Standby Ship as she bravely tried to keep station on the North Sea oil installation.
Onboard, the chief mate and his watch keeper clung tenaciously to their deck-welded seats. Two mugs of steaming hot coffee, filled very, very carefully to just under half full, sat encased in custom made, wooden holders.
The chief mate sighed. He could barely see through the gale driven spray. It was just another typically, wintry North Sea storm.
Story 517
Unexpected Guest
by Willow Hewett
I lovingly looked at my husband on the floor, his face twisted into a grimly scowl.
"The last scowl you will ever achieve," I delightfully shouted at him.
I knelt down beside his body and delicately pulled his white ghostly cheeks into a grin.
"That's better."
I laughed wildly. His cheeks dropped down again into a grimace, as if he mildly disapproved of my actions. His waxy complexion forced a low rumble of laughter from within me, echoing loudly around the dimly lit kitchen.
Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the front door.
Story 518
"One Small Step For Women..."
by Hannah Gao
...said Nigella Footstrong triumphantly, on the eye-wateringly red land of Mars.
She absently dusted herself, gazing wonderingly at the strange landscape. She stood awkwardly, like a dumbly flopping fish far from water. In fact, she didn't even notice her almost dead limbs from being so cramped in her rather rockety rocket. Finally, she was on the perfectly still planet of Mars; luckily, by some miracle. But the best thing was feeling so light, like she'd lost weight just sitting lazily for nearly five years.
Then, suddenly, she realized she hadn't finished and mumbled hastily, "And one giant leap for womankind."
Story 519
The Quick Brown Fox
by Lou Gavin
The brown fox jumped quickly, sneakily, gracefully over the fence. Carefully, he looked over his shoulder furtively, warily aware of his surroundings.
Suddenly, ahead of him appeared a dog. The dog sleepily, lethargically, absentmindedly peered in the fox's direction. They boldly locked eyes.
Frantically, the fox ran towards the dog. He was going to do it this time. Without hesitation, the quick brown fox lithely, springedly, perfectly jumped over the lazy dog.
As soon as the fox left, the dog sluggishly and coolly turned around and laid quietly back down on the grass.
Story 520
The Battle Between Right And Wrong
by Fliss Zakaszewska
Marianne swayed provocatively, sinuously and sensually across the dancefloor. Her diaphanous chiffon blouse flowed from her slim and slender arms...
He stopped reading and glared at Tina. "Seriously? 'Slim' AND 'slender'?"
She laughed melodically. "I thought 'diaphanous chiffon' would raise your volcanic ire, Ed, but I got that one past you."
"I tolerated it... Hey, you know my name's Bob, not Ed?" he howled, disconsolately.
Tina smiled sweetly. "My erudite, sagacious and sanguine editor? No, you'll always be Ed to me."
"Nevertheless, you really should curve your reckless and uncontrolled use of adverbs..."
"Ha. 'Reckless' AND 'uncontrolled'? It's catching, Ed."
Story 521
A Surprisingly Tasty Morsel
by Ceri Marriott
In a remotely isolated, ghostly, darkly lit wood, a magician found a strangely odd smelling mushroom, delicately positioned on a thickly berried branch. Being extremely hungry, he picked it carefully, cooked it quickly, then ate it greedily.
Unfortunately, a really learned magician would certainly have recognised this as a completely unwise move, for he suddenly shrank most remarkably.
Meanwhile his slightly blind, portly shaped pig, smelt the deliciously mushroom-flavoured shrunken magician and rapidly snaffled him up, mistakenly thinking him a truly scrumptious truffle. A rapidly squirty ejection ensued.
This costly mistake was a lesson to both: once bitten, twice shy.
Story 522
Foul Play
by Jo Caddy
The midday heat of a clichéd outback summer (arriving unexpectedly and unceremoniously a month prematurely), unapologetically and viciously encroached upon the carefully and perfectly planned picnic wedding reception. Guests irritatingly tugged at suffocatingly tight collars and historically traditional tulle dresses. Incredibly determined pests of the ant kind mercilessly pillaged every morsel of decadently prepared refreshments as though they had been surreptitiously invited for that very purpose.
Foul play would have suspiciously been suspected, had this been a fairy-tale where characters could magically control the natural order of things, but, as it were, the groom's ex-lover was uncharacteristically jovial that day.
Story 523
Bursting To
by Rosalind Parker
Breathe deeply, hold on very tightly, feeling nervy, as you slowly spring steadily off and dive quickly into the sea. Your senses wildly awoken instantly, skin tingles excitedly, probably by differences in pressure and temperature encompassing your mostly naked body.
Unsurprisingly, sound is numbed, which is jubilantly welcomed, far from the extremely noisy metropolis outside. Usually smelling and tasting the perfectly formed water makes you quickly react. Very soon you go up triumphantly. You gasp deliberately, as back to the surface you go wisely. Visibility is back, the sun shines brightly, illustriously reflecting on the water. Simply pleasurable.
Story 524
And My Pirates Sang On Wonderfully
by Jennifer Meyer
"Land ahoy," I bellowed majestically, as I quickly slid down the rope elegantly and met the floor sturdily, finishing impressively in a stoic stance.
The crew loudly chanted my name gleefully, "Captain Rok, you saved us so gallantly."
There was much rejoicing as my pirates hurried wildly around the deck, quickly gathering our wares and singing merrily and heartily.
I turned nonchalantly, quietly masking my relief, as earlier I had brazenly guaranteed survival and that our bellies would be full once more.
As we crashed forcefully onto the shore, all that remained, pitifully, were our weary bodies and our oars.
Story 525
Counting the Hours
by Ashley Kim
I frantically run through the airport doors and quickly check my bags through security, impatiently waiting in line for the plane.
Twelve more hours.
I board my plane, grumbling at the extremely hot air.
Nine more hours.
We finally take off but the plane suddenly starts to tremble. Turbulence frightfully shakes the aircraft. I close my eyes and patiently wait for the plane to settle.
Eight more hours.
I quickly get my burdensome bag and lug it to customs.
Two more hours.
I run outside excitedly and see them waiting for me.
Zero more hours.
Story 526
Amusement Park
by Minhong Kim
I carefully get into the roller coaster. Neatly setting down my shoulder pack, I get ready for the ride. The roller coaster slowly climbs up the ramp. I nervously bite my fingernails. The roller coaster continually rises up. Stop. It slowly tips forward.
A loud BAM.
I don't know what's happening. I shriek. After what seems like an eternity, we stop. Quickly taking off my seatbelt, I jump off the roller coaster.
I'm never going on that ride again.
Story 527
On A Marvellously Morale-Boosting Moment Of Mind-Blowing Magnitude
by Amanda Garzia
Ears cocked constantly, I bide my time carefully, knowing I may succeed spectacularly or plunge precipitously.
I persist patiently, lying in wait stubbornly, eager to catch him, once again, singing it softly.
"Could it really be?" I ask fervently. "Could it really be that very melody?"
He's singing it again, surreptitiously.
Indisputably it, I conclude confidently, belting it out courageously.
"You know Drake?" he asks incredulously.
"Drake?" I ask bewilderedly. "No. The Beatles," I declare unflinchingly.
He's dumbfounded, albeit momentarily.
"Go figure," he says good-humouredly, checking the facts assiduously. "'Champagne Poetry' samples 'Michelle'. Officially. Best bit of the track, inarguably."
Story 528
Indecently Exposed And Quickly Arrested
by Alan Pattison
Luke carefully walked up the path to the highest point on the hill where he very extragavantly ripped off his top and, rudely showing off his torso to everyone up there, loudly shouted, "No one can legally arrest me, can they?" at which point, a policeman appeared slowly from the crowd and clearly said, "Apart from me," before slowly approaching Luke and hesistantly jotting down his name and address in his notebook.
Story 529
The Herald Of Spring
by Emily McGill
Valiantly, doggedly, her spindly frame peeked warily through the dawn frost.
"Here prematurely again," she muttered, exasperatedly. The meadow, sparsely peppered with grass cowering cautiously after a brutal winter, stirred quietly, nervously.
"Snowdrop?" That old stump peered hopefully at her silken head, bowed shyly, demurely. "Is that you, so early?"
"It's February, Oakwood," she declared defensively. "You know me, I'm always awake promptly." More than could be said for the roses, she thought wryly, who slumbered lazily until May, uselessly.
"Spring, spring, finally." The chorus travelled echoingly. The grass shoots danced laughingly, singing rejoicingly. Oakwood looked on, fondly and longingly.
Story 530
Stationed
by Kirankumar Ramachandran
There's Tom, waving wildly at quietly ignoring crowds who are busily planning their painfully dull Monday – an increasingly impatient crowd spilling out of the well-lit but pathetically narrow station.
He's always there, usually quite cheerful and tantalisingly attractive with his bewitching smile that never switches off and his habit of carelessly flicking back his beautifully unkempt hair.
Invariably, newcomers to the town look suspiciously at him and ask, "Who is that? Why is he here everyday?"
We smile knowingly. "Oh, Tom is perfectly safe. Obviously off his rocker but never bothers anyone."
They shrug and say, "Oh, well."
Story 531
A Late-Night Walk
by Laura Okkema
Swiftly, she skips past ominously towering tombstones, hoping for a timely escape through the sharply angled gates.
"Tread carefully across the cemetery," her mother had repeatedly cautioned. "Always leave before midnight. Never accidentally touch the tombstones."
Nervously, she peers at her watch listlessly ticking towards midnight. She trips, abruptly, over a thickly bulging root and instantly panics. Awkwardly, she steadies herself. Her hand hits smoothly polished, snowy cold marble.
Something grabs her, violently. A skeletal hand, patches of tissue and skin loosely dangling from bone, powerfully pulls her down.
She screams fiercely as she sinks into thickly clumped earth.
Story 532
The Incomprehensibly Incompetent Constables
by Dan Loreti
Meticulously – that's how the detectives scoured my apartment. In the same manner chimps groom one another, Detective Abernathy and Cartwright combed over countertops, under furniture, and throughout my manically torn-to-shreds closet.
I waited with the eagerness of a kid on Christmas expecting the detectives to professionally deliver their report. All that either offered me was an incontestably defeated expression.
Robbers diligently picked my apartment apart, deliberately lifted valuables without a trace, and then surreptitiously slunk off through the night. Professionals, I thought, begrudgingly. Statistically, thieves often evade arrest.
My peace of mind'd been burglarised while detectives helplessly scratched their heads.
Story 533
Worthy
by Julie Haworth
Eventually it is daylight already. Early morning has arrived.
I stand, leaning, assuredly waiting for him.
With the gun tightly gripped in my hand. Down low, by my side.
I observe him, walking slowly up the path. He is grinning foolishly.
Recently he has been repeatedly repeating me.
After every word I say.
Despicably, he knows I hate it, desperately.
Today will be the end completely of his ghastly torment.
He will not willingly stop, so I shall decisively end it.
Every word I say will no longer be constantly repeated.
At last, finally, on arrival, he is despatched.
Story 534
Status Consciously
by Rathin Bhattacharjee
"Bappa," said Riju to me loudly on a wintry evening. "Please, let my driver have some tea."
While serving tea later, I deliberately offered the cup in my left hand to Riju. I offered the cup in my right to the driver quite casually.
"Can I have a plate?" Riju always had tea with a dish ritualistically, long before he rose to be a judge.
I chuckled silently. You might've risen high, my dear nephew, but if you've no qualms about asking an uncle to serve your driver some tea, why should I bother about your status by serving you accordingly?
Story 535
Don Sisyphus
by Paul Lewthwaite
After manfully heaving the boulder up the slope he sighed wistfully, surveying the gloriously noisily clamouring landscape of dazzlingly bright cars and colourfully dressed people.
Longingly, he harkened back to joyful times when he strode purposefully and steadfastly amongst them, a kingly presence, inspiring admirably wonderful deference from those who encountered his dauntingly intimidating aura.
He dutifully returned to his backbreaking, endlessly futile task before any horse mounted, shotgun wielding, scowling guards spotted his pleasantly diverting reverie.
He yelped shrilly as a wasp viciously stung his nose: metaphorically a reminder of the dastardly FBI plot that painfully brought him low.
Story 536
Chagall Leaves His Marc On Kent
by John Notley
It is very highly likely that few of the artistically, critically minded public are aware that Marc Chagall the prolific and internationally known French artist, rightly recognised as the greatest, has some of his work in England.
Visit All Saints' Church in the undeniably pretty village of Tudeley, Kent. Here you'll find the understandably moving set of stained glass windows delicately and masterfully created by him. The main window beautifully and faithfully depicts the drowning of a young woman who tragically and accidentally lost her life in 1963. Her name was Sarah, aged 21, the daughter of a local landowner.
Story 537
Romeo and Juliet, Derailed
by Antasia Shabria Armour
You watch the play excitedly.
"I don't remember Romeo and Juliet going like this," you whisper to your companion quietly.
You don't look away though, no matter what you hear, which makes you want to keep looking and so you watch no matter what is going on. You simply just have to keep watching.
The weather doesn't matter, whether it is rain, sleet or snow. All that matters at this point in time is your show, that is it.
How are you going to continue to watch it?
Story 538
Outrunning The Monster
by Josie Gilbert
She ran tirelessly, weaving unerringly through the trees, heart thumping strenuously. The monster followed, doggedly tracking her, slavering copiously and howling eerily. The moon shimmered feebly above, appearing fleetingly through the clouds to illuminate her path briefly.
She tripped awkwardly and fell heavily. Panting frantically, she looked up quickly and clearly saw the candle burning dimly in the cottage window. She struggled painfully to her feet and limped hopefully onward, only to be gripped powerfully from behind and shaken repeatedly.
"Wake up immediately," her husband exclaimed urgently. "You're having that nightmare continuously."
She flopped against her pillow and sighed exhaustedly.
Story 539
Unwelcome Guest
by Lylah
A sudden thud, so distant, I barely heard it. Then another. It was coming from below, towards the basement area, I was sure.
Exhaling deeply, I quietly returned to the mound of paperwork. The house fell unbearably still for some moments. Then, another thud, this time, slightly nearer.
Standing, I pushed back the chair, scraping it apprehensively against the rotted wooden flooring. Picking up the glass lantern in both hands, I made my way reluctantly and very slowly out of the room and into the narrow hallway with its unwelcoming chill, holding my breath deliberately as I went.
Story 540
Demonic Discipline
by Corinne Pollard
"Everyday, you always do this, Vlad. Listen, here and here. Add the adverb after the verb, not before, and never outside the full stop. C'mon quickly now. See how easily you can write it under my instructions. Why can't you do this away, at home or after school yourself? That's enough. OK, everyone, stop already. Morticia, physically shifting to hang upside-down is forbidden. Get down. Before you all leave quietly, I said quietly, there are leftover blood banks to take home. No, Vlad. Don't playfully slurp it. Drink responsibly. I'll see you all tomorrow. Alright, class dismissed. Vlad, stay behind."
Story 541
Violently Happy
by David S Mitchell
I excitedly dart towards the door where moments earlier the package flopped noisily onto the floor. Losing a slipper carelessly mid-step barely slows me down. My hands swiftly swoop down and dramatically clutch the cardboard package. I whack my head clumsily on the handle as I triumphantly arise, but the pain doesn't fractionally phase me.
I forcefully rip open the cardboard, and surgically pull the cellophane off the book. I flick impatiently through to page 284. I joyfully dance and carelessly stub my toe on the doorframe. There is my story and my name on the page. Finally published.
Story 542
The Curious Boy
by Jamal Sarwar
The train halted abruptly with a screeching sound. Fortunately, no one was hurt.
The conductor hastily searched for the cabin from which the emergency cable was frantically pulled in haste. The woman chided her son who had unknowingly pulled the cable out of curiosity.
After thoroughly checking for any other fault upon the request of the anxious passengers, the driver was convincingly given the green signal to proceed without further delay.
As the engines started, the train slowly began to move towards its next destination.
Story 543
Bad Dogs
by Rhoda Livingstone-Smith
Two German Shepherds, Harry and Meg, named after a notoriously famous couple, live with us contentedly. They usually sit quietly, peacefully resting, but occasionally become bored and naughtily eat ridiculously bad things.
The sweets, bought lovingly for my partner's birthday, were greedily devoured, when they aggressively chewed their way through the lid and cheekily helped themselves. Meg vigorously mangled an empty tin while Harry enthusiastically annihilated some extremely expensive sunglasses.
Since then, when we reluctantly leave them at home, they grumpily wait in their crates, until we gratefully come back to an immaculately tidy house, where they excitedly greet us.
Story 544
A Mortally Dangerous Game
by Claudia Nicholson
Disbelievingly she stands, utterly and unexpectedly covered in dust and bits of plaster. Everything had gone perfectly to plan until now.
Feet hopelessly rooted to the ground, she desperately tries to make sense of it all. Her eyes intensely focus as her heart suddenly stops. It's him.
"Take her away," Inspector Cluedo's voice booms triumphantly.
Immediately, he turns to the extremely large hole in the wall. Absolutely ridiculous, yet true, nonetheless. The murderer successfully apprehended. Mrs Plum behind the wall of the library. Her weapon of choice, a dental drill violently wielded. An abnormally large filling will be required here.
Story 545
La Clase
by Eduardo A. Malandro
It was highly likely that Christopher purposefully tied his tie too tightly to gently remind himself to sit up attentively and to thoughtfully participate during Spanish class. Señor routinely and fairly accused Christopher of behaving reprehensibly and, to use his word, grossamente. Fortunately, Christopher had the rarely seen teenaged ability to gaze inwardly to challenge his ferociously strong urge to act impetuously. Shakily, Christopher began his response to workbook question seven. As the time steadily ticked on, he found himself surprisingly able to eloquently articulate his ideas.
Señor interrupted crossly.
"Por qué no levantaste su mano? You continuously disappoint me."
Story 546
Never Again
by Aisha Amjad
Happily, I went to the supermarket and hungrily looked at the vegetable section. Gladly, I touched my favourite green okra and cheerfully smelled the leafy coriander, and the plump, smooth red tomatoes, loudly calling to be picked up. Enthusiastically, I filled the trolley with all the veggies that I'd completely forgotten in the last two years.
Suitably satisfied by my shopping adventure, I walked towards the home, constantly cursing the pandemic which entirely snatched away my little pleasures of life, repeatedly muttering, "Never Again."
Story 547
Runner's Glory (Or Not?)
by Akshaya Sutrave
My feet defty press against the ground, my lungs undeniably screaming for air.
Incongruously, shoes expeditiously thud past. The glimmeringly radiant sun relentlessly bakes the racing track. But the runners keep running, eyes trained on the gloriously promising finish line.
I automatically come to a halt and dreamily stare at the meadows lazily sprawling under the startlingly azure sky – at the flowers languidly rocking in the breeze.
Everyone has fleetingly gone past me, leaving me in the dust.
I don't care, because I'm not here to fervently run the race. I'm ultimately here to see the scenery.
Story 548
Watercolour Dreams
by Selina Spartini
The moonlit night was eerily quiet, I thought as I lazily stumbled up to bed. I curled up safely in my cocoon of bedding before nodding off.
Dreams are both curious and precarious, I always thought, yet I truly enjoyed every bit of them. Endlessly floating in a whirlpool of your inner mind, only allowing the most pleasant thoughts to pass through. I always thought of my dreams as being a galaxy of sweetly painted watercolours. I'd gladly take this existence over that of our mundane, cruelly shaped world.
For now, I loftily float on. Longingly awaiting the next one.
Story 549
Quietly
by Denarii Peters
Quietly, terribly slowly and tremendously daintily, though primarily superlatively uncomfortably cautious, she delightedly, carelessly rippingly opens the brightly vibrantly colourful, seemingly hastily and loosely wrapped package he dramatically, arrogantly, unapologetically, even mischievously handed to her. Sweetly, smilingly, smoothly, she agreeably, if awkwardly, raises the solidly unflatteringly, uniquely, if badly carved, lid. Disturbingly, immediately, visibly, if implausibly toothily sharply snippingly snappingly nippingly creatures swarmingly invadingly emerge.
Ah, Pandora, actually you should unwillingly even tearfully or necessarily insultingly yet always completely refuse unusually beautifully, undesirably, unexpected boxes. Clearly they're terribly, awfully, incredibly, finally depressingly bad for you.
Story 550
Monkeying Around
by Emma Hardy
Scarily, angrily, grimacingly, the gorilla stared. I carefully approached him, eyeing him curiously. Surprisingly, he did not move, boldly, silently.
We exchanged glances thoughtfully, wilfully searching for answers. Unflinchingly, I eagerly spotted the peg strategically placed on his head. I removed it cautiously.
His eyes sprang open sharply, and his furry arms opened abruptly. He growled ferociously. I screamed violently, as he fruitfully rushed towards me. Shutting my door quickly, I locked it, briskly.
I bravely peered behind my beautifully patterned curtains. The washing line swung repeatedly, a gorilla costume was pegged, sheepishly undisturbed.
Story 551
Solved Decisively
by PS Cottier
Holus-bolus he emptied the revolver.
My chest noisily dragged in air, lungs cruelly impeded by the consequences of this inexplicably violent act.
"You doggedly came to the truth through exhaustively examining all suspects," he explained, as my being leaked away, terribly quickly. Slowly, he shook his head, as if he regretted his bullets' inevitably bloody intrusions. "Damn your incontrovertibly tenacious ways."
My tongue achingly sought to find sounds that articulately conveyed thought. It failed, finally silenced.
I heard his footsteps retreating, quietly. The alley darkened, alarmingly, as it was barely noon.
I had not remotely suspected him at all.
Story 552
Lantern
by Fahime Saeedi
After every storm is calm
The storm goes and you stay
Endure
The wave brings blessings with itself
And you wash away the hardships and bitterness
It's here
Your whale is right here, in the chest of your heart
Refer to your heart
You will see it there
Do not fill the tulip
Tune your breath with your tulip waves
The frequency of his voice can be heard from far away
Do not forget
You are a beautiful tulip anemone
You, butterfly the anemone, because the tulip is permanent
Story 553
The Day The Lake Dried Up
by Julie Dron
Charmingly sparkly beneath the dazzlingly sunny rays, the ripply lake surface normally looked enticingly swimmable. But Jonathon worriedly noted that the unusually hot weather was sadly causing the quickly retreating shoreline to unwittingly reveal those things that had previously lain secretly on the stony lake bed... A once pretty shoe, forlornly missing its partner. A rusty shopping basket, illegally dumped.
Jonathon fearfully trod towards a frighteningly familiar shape. It surely could not possibly be...
Nervously approaching, then immensely relieved, he happily discovered the gnarly trunk of a tree, its spindly branches reaching out like the spooky arms of a lonely corpse.
Story 554
June 13th, 2022
by Sarah Burnod
The victim lies abnormally on the irregularly-shaped stone ground. She moves catatonically.
"Catatonically? She's dead, that's it." Officer J sighed tiredly, exhaustingly, catatonically even. She paced slowly to the other end of the poorly-lit office and read on.
Upon further inspection, the victim seemed to be clumsily munching on a croissant when a bullet inserted itself purposefully in her extravagantly-dressed chest. Pearl necklace was clearly tugged at, cashmere wool expertly and tightly knit.
And more.
The victim was absolutely, undeniably, utterly and beyond the shadow of a doubt, murdered.
Officer J threw the report on the table and chugged her expresso.
Story 555
Wonderfully, Interestingly, Beautifully Crafted Anthill
by Lily Finch
Abnormally, certainly. Not deliberately immediately or meaningfully apparent was their goal. Likely frantically, they nearly fashioned their home with tunnels, always too fast, daily, without the awareness of others.
Knowingly, yesterday sometime, mysteriously enough, they were everywhere outside here. There below, nervously, inquisitively below, going to and fro. Interestingly, they hungrily yet fervently worked away as only they were trained to do. Step by step, they enthusiastically, repeatedly, and what looked like playfully, completed the final details. They frenetically, sometimes majestically, depending on who is looking, zealously, energeticall and victoriously finally complete their task. The anthill; now they must scavenge.
Story 556
My Dog Sandy
by Myles Jaskowiak
Sandy, my dog, often barks aggressively. Sometimes he barks loudly and sometimes quietly, sometimes timidly and sometimes playfully. He never yawns and hardly sleeps, and mostly, frantically, erratically, chases chickens.
Yesterday, he cleverly, carefully, cagily, climbed a fence. Today, he cunningly, hurriedly stole an incredibly tasty burger from the barbecue. Tomorrow, he says he will learn to expertly swim and, in a week, he tells me he will easily beat all the other dogs in a swimming competition.
I am, sensibly, cautiously optimistic because, truthfully, honestly, and whole-heartedly, I think he'll finally sleep soundly and deeply after that.
Story 557
The MouseRat
by Catherine Quinn
It was abnormally large, this lively mouse. Or was it a rat? Susie wasn't overly sure.
The MouseRat, as she called it, sat courageously in the middle of the lawn, staring gleefully towards Susie, much to her despair. It smoothly strolled arrogantly across the lawn and defiantly climbed a fence, briskly heading for loosely hanging bird feeders. It clasped a feeder recklessly and rapidly ate the seeds whilst all the while staring mockingly at Susie.
Susie suddenly felt extremely angry. It had rudely and unashamedly returned.
"I'll get you," Susie said valiantly.
The MouseRat boldly burped and carried on eating.
Story 558
Farewell, Thou Lob of Spirits
by Josephine Andersen
I guarded my magic power jealously and secretively.
"He is reluctantly coming to the party," said Claire provocatively, aware of my romantically inclined intentions.
For weeks, I had purposefully and consistently applied myself to the ensnarement of Brian. He was approaching me now, precariously carrying a glass of hideously shining wine into which I had surreptitiously dropped a love potion. I eagerly and ardently awaited the forthcoming invitation for a date.
But no! He doggedly bypassed me, amiably stretching his hand towards Theresa who, turning malevolently towards me, smiled at me knowingly.
Story 559
An Unrelenting and Monstrous Battle
by Sammy Hager
I glare confidently in the mirror. Punctually staring back at me is the same monster I've known.
Arching aggressively, contorting captivatingly, breaking and enlarging ceaselessly, repairing and pointing pointlessly, relentlessly softening and abnormally gaining colour repeatedly, happily smirking and tearfully jerking. It jaggedly jests me and painfully calls to me. It unapologetically challenges me and successfully taunts me. It is all I am and am not.
I once frantically argued with it. I desperately ran from it and deliberately denied it. I rapidly revoked it and unyieldingly rejected it. But now, I just blissfully overcome it every day.
Story 560
Shall I, Shan't I?
by Valerie Fish
I stare longingly at the bottle in front of me.
A voice inside my head cries goadingly, "Drink it."
A second voice counters desperately, "No, no..."
I unscrew the top. Inhaling deeply, I take in the beautiful bouquet. It's like an old friend I've been sorely missing these last few weeks.
Slowly, I pour the contents into the glass, and put it to my lips.
The voices in my head argue vehemently.
A winner emerges.
I tip the glass into the sink and watch the golden liquid disappear down the plughole.
"You'll not beat me," I cry triumphantly.
Story 561
Release
by Sylvia Wilson
Blearily, she eyed him beside her, ever so quietly, peacefully, smugly sleeping.
Timidly, she poked him, testily upping the pressure. Annoyingly, he did not respond to her increasingly strong jabs.
He was a very unnatural shade of grey. Her loudly beating heart filled her fuzzily thrumming ears. Angrily, impatiently, she poked him again.
He was definitively dead. She suddenly felt incredibly happy. No more too-loud off-key singing now. No more criticism of her 'very unflattering' clothes or his pompous mantra, "I'm almost always right, you know."
Cheerfully, gaudily dressed in red, she went shopping for clothes and chocolate.
Story 562
Birdbath Philosophy
by Valerie Robinson
It's raining, biblically. Our garden birdbath is torrentially, unexpectedly, a waterfall. It spectacularly drenches the pigeon, pecking hopelessly, disconsolately, beneath it.
Nearby, a blackbird joyously treats the waterfall like a hot shower. Twisting its neck acrobatically, it cleans vigorously, ruffling feathers to turn, magically, into a creature extravagantly plumed.
The pigeon, emphatically unimpressed by this display of optimism, glumly pecks on, steadfastly refusing to seize the day, look on the bright side or make lemons into lemonade.
A huge magpie swoops down and aggressively, carelessly, scares them both off.
Life, eh?
Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
Story 563
How Tweet It Is
by Darcy Grabenstein
It all started rather innocently. I was immediately responding to a somewhat offensive tweet by a decidedly offensive person. As I furiously typed away, I didn't notice the devilishly inconspicuous typo in my response. Immensely satisfied with my retort, I hit 'send' and hurled my carefully crafted, 4,000-character opinion out into the Twitterverse.
Soon, my Twitter feed was suddenly bombarded with raucously bawdy comments and emojis that had me blushing like a schoolgirl. So long politically correct, hello autocorrect. You see, instead of 'BLM' it read: 'I support the BM movement.' SMH.
Story 564
Stolen
by Freida Richards
Arriving mysteriously and anonymously, he mounted me nervously, callously and foolishly, fully knowing that I am physically, powerfully superior and defiantly and unbearably always a winner. Boldly and arrogantly, he boastfully believed he could own me. Climbing on my back, deliberately and cruelly, he whipped me, riding me roughly across the field.
I deliberately and mockingly unseated him. I watched him grovelling, pleading and painfully sinking into the stinking mud. Snorting triumphantly, I kicked him violently and returned, galloping valiantly, heroically and thankfully, back to my tremendously lovingly owner. Grooming me, spoiling me, holding me closely to her, she happily, gratefully rejoiced at my return.
Story 565
Roulette
by Salsabila Ananda
Yesterday, my mother asked me to visit her while I had too much work to do. She told me the matter ear-splittingly and demandingly over the phone.
It's not that I hardly visit them. I regularly do, once a month, sometimes more. I couldn't understand why she missed me so much lately. That might be because she almost always attentively reads too many books about parenting.
But I didn't know what to do. I had to do my job well and I had to have this thoughtfully decided.
Oh, if only I innately had a roulette attached to my brain.
Story 566
Gear-Sticky Situation
by Ewan McNally
"Quickly now, put it firmly into first gear," the instructor politely instructed.
"What if I accidentally choose the wrong gear?" Robert replied shakily.
"The car will indubitably stall," said the positively unflappable instructor.
"Indubitably? What part of the car is that?" Robert panically exclaimed.
"No, Robert," the instructor said brightly, "it's a criminally underrated adverb."
Suddenly, Robert blindly rammed the gearstick into third, rapidly raised the clutch and simultaneously pressed the accelerator to the floor. A disturbingly, earth-shatteringly loud crunching followed.
"We're proverbially up the creek without a paddle," the instructor matter-of-factly stated.
"Is that another adverb?" Robert asked shakily.
Story 567
Break Rules
by Jenny Maldonado
"Never use an adverb," Ms. Carlan stage-whispered theatrically. "Seldom do they enhance the narrative."
Obediently, Michael erased the word 'simply'. He surreptitiously watched her glide noiselessly across the classroom, already preying mercilessly on her next victim, a scrawny kid who was ceaselessly, fervently picking his nose – he picked overtly, but he drew the line at publicly eating his findings. He hid that part very well, pretending to cough violently, hand flying to his mouth, quickly reintegrating the dried mucus.
This time, though, his routine went hilariously awry, and Michael watched the booger arc beautifully into Ms Drumpf's critically flapping mouth.
Story 568
Roses Dismiss Confidently Other Vegetable Matter
by Elizabeth Leyland
My doorbell rings annoyingly. I answer it nonetheless. There stands my neighbour, saying, "Would it trouble you awfully to mind my garden? I'm finally going away."
Her head tilts sharply. "Incidentally, how's your diet?"
I eat vegetables daily.
"I loathe cabbage viscerally," I say.
Cryptically she smiles.
Her car putters away groggily. I enter her garden. Roses bloom crowdedly, petals packed overlappingly. Orange, pink, yellow, beckon psychedelically. I'm dreamily enticed to lie down.
Thus, scent floods and fills me. No wonder my neighbour often acts strangely.
A rose says haughtily, "Live on our perfume. Don't eat the green petals again."
Story 569
The Room
by Hayley Allcock
Quietly and slowly, I entered the dark and gloomy room, carefully and gradually twisting the handle. I saw something, just partially and briefly, but it made me step back outside quickly. I foolishly went back in to investigate what I had seen, anxiously and cautiously looking around.
The monster was loudly moving towards me. Suddenly, its head came off and I saw that it was clearly just my brother dressed up happily, laughing on the floor.
Story 570
The Multilingual Dog
by Nuri Rosegg
Usually, at this time of year, Milan's rain sings peacefully and cheerfully. However, yesterday raindrops orchestrated badly, almost catastrophically. Despite every objection, summer rain performed stormily. On that day, of course, I arrived in town for the first time. Slowly, noisily, wetly, and miserably, I dragged my suitcase. While passing by a garden (so exhaustedly lengthy) a German sheepdog stalked me frantically while barking loudly and aggressively.
Halfway through I bent down.
"Shut up!"
To my amazement, instantly, he silenced. He remained sheepishly where I left him.
A high IQ! Not only Italian and German, but he even understands English.
Story 571
Startlingly Stealthy Shenanigans
by Penny Rogers
Margot crept cautiously into Lois's shed. She wasn't there to sneakily steal anything, just tamper shamelessly with those sure-to-be prize-winning pickled onions. Every year, Lois victoriously won the Cyril Cuthroat Cup for pickled onions. No one else really stood a chance. Carefully, Margot unscrewed all the lids and painstakingly poured milk directly into each jar, immediately turning the vinegar terribly lumpy.
Momentarily, the two women met confrontationally in the library.
"I must tantalisingly tell you, Margot, I'm not going to exasperatingly enter the show this year. I've promised all my pickles promotionally to a charity auction," laughingly leered Lois.
Story 572
Apple Snacks
by Raven Boerger
I eagerly bit into the apple, which was cut perfectly symmetrically by my sister. The juice generously sprayed across my face, and I greedily went in for a second bite.
I readily thanked her for the act of kindness and willingness to cut my food so promptly and politely. She quickly thanked me and searched the fridge hastily for a snack before she had to leave for work. She gently closed the refrigerator door and said her goodbyes energetically.
I foolishly attempted to respond, but the front door closed abruptly, unfortunately cutting off my reply.
Story 573
A Clown Convention
by Joe Parrillo
As Firppo the clown ponderously made his way to the podium, the other clowns in the audience concurred immediatelythat they'd never seen him looking so visibly dejected. With crocodile tears streaming down his makeup-caked face, Firppo made a shocking announcement.
"Friends, I can't do this anymore. I'm retiring."
Completely stunned, loud murmuring erupted in the hall.
One clown stood on his floppy feet and asked, "Why, Firppo?"
"My dark past has caught up with me. Take this, Bongo, I'm leaving."
As Bongo reached for the mic, Firppo hit him with a pie.
"OK, I lied!"
Laughter exploded.
Story 574
Bonfire
by Leona D.
I stare mesmerisingly yet annoyingly at my only warmly beautiful companion.
The night is chillingly cold, yet my infuriatingly gratifying companion, whom I cannot exasperatingly part with due to my pitifully aggravated predicament, continues to dance crazily and gracefully with blazing red-golden clothes laughingly flapping in front of me.
Annoyingly, I let the unlikable humane bonfire bewitch me rather than begrudgingly stare at my likable inhumane friends who jovially invited me, a no-boyfriend-since-birth, into a supposed-to-be merry camping experience, which is infuriatingly true to them as they are merrily talking to their annoying sweethearts around my enchanting companion.
Story 575
Desperately Seeking
by Maria Paul
I walked quickly, hurriedly leaving the house. My meeting was at eight and I was desperately undeniably late. My phone rang incessantly, making me wholeheartedly want to throw it violently out of the window.
I almost disastrously fell after hopelessly missing a step, despairingly rushing swiftly into the building. I barely made it to the meeting. Finally, my heart beating vigorously, I ashamedly whispered an apology.
I had hardly sat down and it was my turn. Even so, my presentation was orated impeccably and I shrewdly volunteered myself for a work trip, scoring the desperately sought-after invite to the boss's dinner party.
Story 576
Party Animals
by Karen Wolfe
Farah's litter is devastatingly catastrophically wrong.
"NOOOOO!" Amanda shrieks, histrionically, Wagnerianly, all dreams of future Crufts champions brutally, unjustly dashed. The newborns, squatly, puggishly, patently not Afghan hounds, speak of a backstreet liaison, a pedigree bridegroom rejected for an uninhibitedly unsanctioned mating with some mangily mongrelly chancer. HOWWWW?
Wretchedly, remorsefully, Amanda recalls a bibulously bonkers girlie-night, Proseccoishly-merry visitors, a gate left unwittingly, uncaringly open: and, later, an uncharacteristically subdued Farah spread smugly, muddily across her bed.
The puppies suckle, slurpily, burpily, hiccupingly. Farah nuzzles them tenderly. Amanda, meeting her gaze, sighs defeatedly, shakes her head, and smiles. Fondly.
Story 577
Absence Strikes Cruelly in the Night
by Madeleine McDonald
Since the cremation, he had slept fitfully. In his dreams, they still lived together comfortably but modestly, wanting for nothing but without ambition. Affection flowed between them, naturally and easily, each gratefully accepting the other's presence. His neighbours confidently set their clocks by his daily routine, for he walked the dog conscientiously and regularly. When out, he greeted neighbours briefly but politely.
Wakefulness teased him, often and churlishly. Sleep recalcitrantly refused to return.
Reluctantly, he gently patted the other side of the bed, feeling only absence. Realisation always dawned, relentlessly and pitilessly.
His beloved dog was definitely, irrevocably dead.
Story 578
Per My Last Email
by Hillary
Dear Staff,
It has unfortunately and awkwardly come to Management's attention that some employees are surprisingly unaware that it is highly inappropriate to eat a Burrito Supreme® Combo from Taco Bell at lunchtime only to use the staff restroom and, distressingly enough, neglect to immediately flush the toilet. Moreover, it is completely unacceptable to do so while unabashedly yelling colourfully chosen (yet entirely inappropriate) phrases such as "Bombs away!" and "Speak to me, oh Toothless One!" Please kindly remember that our company is strictly a professional workplace and not a South Park episode.
Have a great (and hopefully beanless) day,
Management
Story 579
Rising to the Challenge
by Angela Hancock
Maliciously editing the feedback indicated how incompetently the teacher had taught and marked the work. The teacher anxiously offered solutions, whilst the headteacher vindictively indicated that the school's credibility was irreparably ruined.
Meanwhile, the governors imperviously praised the leadership for rigorously rooting out anomalies whilst standardly testing. The children complyingly engaged in their learning and naively accepted what they were told was correctly adjusted marking.
The headteacher intentionally ended the teacher's contract whilst the governors and parents ignorantly and trustingly accepted the ably and skilfully navigated inspection strategy.
Standards were rigorously retained and the leadership successfully exonerated!
Story 580
Kiss the Memories Goodbye
by John Compton
A beautiful, serene and distinctly special retreat. Their peaceful nook and cranny where letters were lovingly read and kisses tenderly made. The birds singing beautifully and trees whispering gently. Jenny and Felix devotedly loved their special place and returned each year to enthusiastically celebrate their first kiss.
His accident was shockingly out of the blue. After five years he bravely walked again, and she lovingly supported him and they reclaimed their lives and stolen time. But nothing is forever. Their special place was now cruelly a car park on a housing estate. No birds. No trees. Just quickly fading memories.
Story 581
Serenely: A Glimpse Into the Countryside
by John Lee
Vividly, the sun serenely bathes the countryside gracefully, casting golden hues upon rolling fields. Serenely, birds characteristically soar gracefully overhead, chirping soundly and melodiously. Far away, a brook murmurs softly, meandering through lush greenery. Occasionally, a gentle breeze rustles through the trees, whispering secrets to the leaves. Everywhere, beautifully, wildflowers brightly and colourfully bloom the landscape. Peacefully, cattle nonchalantly graze lazily in hugely vast meadows, contentedly chewing cud. Occasionally, a tractor rumbles by, diligently tending to the land. In the distance, hills loom majestically, cloaked in mist.
Tranquillity reigns supreme in this picturesque expanse, where time seems to stand stilly.
Story 582
Have You Been Febrile?
by Greg Poole
Curiously, he always looked away just after the crime. He'd never glance back at his chillingly hideous, but somewhat beautifully arranged victim.
Ironically, it all started due to discontentment, often when standing over people. Sensing more than enough in being the ridiculously intelligent if always overlooked public figure, he seldom received glitteringly profuse praise. Effectively, he was already past the irritably, senselessly described 'peak'.
It was difficult to know when precisely the dramatically steep downfall started. Clearly, he was now little more than a culpably motivated killer.
Soon, inevitably, the dreadfully realised potential would inevitably land for Dr Mure.
Story 583
The Mysteriously Blue Nag
by Jasha Fletcher
Unexpectedly, this morning, I saw the most beautifully and very brightly coloured steed. Luckily, he stopped abruptly to toss his long neck proudly and vigorously from side to side.
Suddenly and startingly, his vibrantly blue head jerked up. Then those mysteriously dark eyes stared directly at me, mesmerisingly still. I admiringly stared back at him, totally and utterly lost in the moment with this magnificently decorated specimen.
Unfortunately, too quickly, he went merrily on his way. Nimbly, I gave chase. Annoyingly, the prickly hedge thwarted my efforts. Oh, what a rarely wonderfully and unbelievably lucky morning encounter I'd had today.
Story 584
Witches’ Hill, Lithuania
by Kelly Peterson
Bravely and curiously, I excitedly steeply climb. Vibrantly and colourfully stand boldly beautiful trees. Gently flowing breezes briefly rustle leaves carelessly.
Eventually, incredibly carved sculptures of oldly worldly tales appear; of wickedly terrible witches and fawningly menacing devils tricking stupidly gullible humans into cruelly dangerous perils; of the fisherman's wife, who quietly and patiently waits eternally for her loving husband to return from a desperately perilous quest.
Hill steeply rising, I thankfully and defiantly near the crest, where Lucifer and the Gates of Hell colossally stand. Amazingly twisted and terrifyingly horrific faces adorn the threshold that I apprehensively pass through.
Story 585
Stella's Dream
by Wade Morton
A wildly, densely overgrown hedge stands majestically, displaying vividly green lush foliage amidst elegantly formed blooms. There is a gate, diligently, delicately, delightfully carved with symbols and script.
Curiously, diffidently, excitedly, Stella opens the gate into a fantastically, intriguingly, mystifyingly, adventurously parallel world. Suddenly, she hears noisily, profoundly deafening, piercing cries.
Foolishly, eagerly, she steps further into the beautifully barren landscape. She stops hastily, quietly, keenly observing duelling dragons in mortal combat. The victor rises swiftly and triumphantly, elegantly, like a phoenix, valiantly, enthusiastically embracing life.
Stella, zestfully, systematically, perfectly, negotiates her trodden path until, happily, thankfully, exhaustingly, she reaches her dreamy sanctuary.
Story 586
Little Black Cat
by Chloe Cheng
She slunk effortlessly past the sloping shadows, being careful to avoid the carelessly discarded glass bottles, glimmering ominously in the moonlight. Softly, she purred, swinging her tail gently. She longed desperately for a friend.
Mice scuttered sheepishly behind broken bin bags, searching helplessly for soggy scraps and crumbs. Ordinarily, they scattered instantly whenever she arrived. But tonight, she tentatively approached, extending a paw graciously towards her humble guests.
"Would you care to dine with me tonight?"
The mice excitedly agreed. Together, they happily shared a feast of freshly found cheese and milk. Happily united at last as newfound friends.
Story 587
Mr Listlessly’s Inevitably and Necessarily Brief Distress
by Gail M Feldman
Mr Listlessly listlessly picked at his barely cooked steak. Actually, this was the way he really preferred it but today he barely cared, because his frequently absent girlfriend finally had wholly abandoned him to his totally fraught and exceedingly solitary loneliness. She’d cruelly left him an explicitly offensive note and casually left it on the brilliantly faked Louis IV console in his sadly underlit entryway.
Suddenly (and revelatorily), he realised, with uncharacteristically clear insight, that he probably had never truly loved that unfathomably selfish woman anyway. Despite this profoundly liberating thought, he nonetheless retained some microscopically significant fragment of grief – blessedly, briefly.
Story 588
Congealed Disappointment
by Anne Meale
Ironically, the hot chocolate she’d ordered swiftly on entry to the café was now disappointingly tepid. Regularly, a drink sadly misnamed.
Sighing disapprovingly, she stirred the stickily sweet marshmallows into the rapidly congealing liquid, determinedly consuming it before it eventually formed a tenaciously clinging skin.
Frequently she had casually made the same mistake when trying consciously to cut back on caffeine. Always she craved the arguably strongest kick, seldom did an alternative prove indubitably superior. Consequently, always a coagulated disappointment. Never again. She silently and morosely pushed the mug away.
The coffee machine looked on, smugly.
