Genre: general, humour
“My daddy said ‘If you start something finish it,” the student said.
“That’s good, but how does that answer why you plucked all the feathers off this poor chicken?” the teacher asked as she ran a soothing hand over the naked chicken.
“It was an accident, Miss. I pulled some feathers, so I pulled all the feathers from the wing, then all the feathers,” the student said with scratch marks all along his arms from the chicken.
The teacher didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She settled for a stern but understanding ‘teacher face’ and carefully considered her words.
“Do you think it was good to pluck the chicken’s feathers?”
“It’s good that you finished what you started, but next time, if you’re doing something that doesn’t feel right, ask your teacher or parents first, okay?”
“You’re dismissed. Go back to class.”
She was definitely telling her husband about this tonight.
~To Save a Life~
Just 5 hours. He would go back 5 hours, stop the experiment before it overloaded, and save his wife.
He reached for the time machine.
“You won’t remember even if you go back.”
His student stepped out from behind the shelf. He hurriedly pulled his hand back and combed his fingers through his hair.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“You’ve gone back at least twenty times to save your wife. You just don’t remember it. But I do. I can help.”
“You’re not going to stop me?” Meddling with time was taboo. Even first years knew that.
“Already tried. Didn’t work. If you can’t beat them, join them, right? So, tell me, how can I save your wife?”
He released a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. All the ‘should have’ and ‘if only’ that had hounded him since the accident jumped to the front of his mind.
“This is what you need to do.”
Genre: slice of life, fantasy, romance?
She had lived dozens of lives and experienced dozens of lifestyles, but this was the first time she was being confessed to by someone so young.
“Is it because I’m younger than you? I don’t care about that. Age is just a number,” the boy insisted.
She swallowed a laugh. Everyone was younger than her. They just didn’t know it. Dating anyone made her feel like a crib robber, let alone this kid who wasn’t old enough to grow a beard.
“I’m your teacher. The relationship would be inappropriate no matter how you look at it. But, if you let me, I know someone else who can make you very happy.”
Her student didn’t look convinced, but left without a fight. Now alone, she grinned.
She had lived dozens of lives and experienced dozens of lifestyles, and her matchmaking skills, honed over the centuries, were second to none. It was time to play.
Genre: humour, irony
“Be careful of swimming butterflies and flying marbles,” their teacher liked to say.
Hie neighbour took his teacher’s words seriously, like he did everything else in life, and always kept an eye out for butterflies and marbles in even the most unusual places.
His cousin considered the words as just ramblings of a senile mind and lived life refusing to take their teacher’s favourite saying seriously.
As for himself, he acknowledged the advice, but otherwise didn’t change his lifestyle much.
He saw a few swimming butterflies and had a few close calls with flying marbles, but otherwise, he had a pretty normal life.
His cousin seemed to actively attract both the swimming butterflies and flying marbles. Not a day went by without him bumping into one or the other, often literally.
His neighbour, on the other hand, never caught even a glimpse of either despite actively looking for them.
This is something I wrote a while back. I wrote this piece because I wanted a story where there was a super ridiculous advice that was actually true.
My response to the prompt fishing.
She opened the first bottle and dropped the end of her line into the luminescent blue liquid. Once the liquid soaked into the line, the bright blue tip floated into the air. She guided the tip to one of the usual hot spots and waited.
It didn’t take long for the first bite. With a twist of her hand, the string looped around her target and she pulled it down into the basket beside her.
There. One furry fish down, 369 more to go to make a fish cloak. She dipped the line into the bottle again and cast it into the air.
Her teacher better use the cloak. If he changed his mind again, she would skin him next.
Been awhile since I did something really fantasy-like. I actually didn’t know what the character was fishing for until the very end XP
Genre: slice of life
23. 24. 25… Someone was missing.
She took another scan at her students, checking them off her mental attendance list until she figured out the missing child.
She let her helpers know she was leaving and retraced their steps. He wasn’t at the lolly store, or the woodshed, or the cheese stall. She crossed the street, past the bookstore, ice cream parlour, honey stall. Still no signs. She turned the corner.
Her ears picked up the wail in the air, then her eyes found the group of people at the corner of the street.
How did he get there?
She cut through the crowd to pull the silly boy into her arms.
“You forgot me,” he wailed.
“I remember you now. Let’s go back,” she said.
Holding his little snot-covered hand, she led him back to the group. She didn’t know how they left him behind last time, but she was going to keep him glued to her side if that was what it took to keep him with them for the rest of the trip.
My response to the last July prompt ‘stone’.
Genre: slice of life, humour
~The Essay Topic~
“This is your essay topic for this weekend.”
The whole class complained.
“What’s there to write about stones?”
“Are you joking?”
“You want an essay on stones? We’ll show you stones. Let’s stone her!”
The students grabbed anything they could find and threw them at the teacher.
The teacher reached under her desk and pulled out a bat. Eyes narrowed, she whacked the makeshift missiles back at the student tables. That just made her students pick up more things and throw them back, yelling at the top of their lungs all the way.
The door slammed open.
“Quiet!” shouted the teacher next door.
Silence. Except for a few books stumbling off the edge of the tables to the ground.
The next door teacher slammed the door shut and left. For the next few minutes, the class awkwardly put things back into order.
“None of you hit me, so you still need to write about stones,” the teacher said, “If you don’t know what I’m talking about, ask your classmates.”
The students grumbled, but settled down. They had missed their chance, but they would pass the baton on to their juniors, just like how their seniors told them about the challenge their teacher issued to her class years back when she first started teaching.
“If you can hit me, I’ll give you a different topic.”
The teacher had meant it as a one-off thing, but if this once a year opportunity kept her students interested, it was an acceptable risk to take.
But seriously. Every single year, it was the topic of stones that made her class homicidal. What was wrong with writing about stones?
In response to the July prompt ‘sleep’.
Genre: general, slice of life
~The Sleeping Student~
In the corner of the classroom slumped a student, infamous for his perfect attendance… only to sleep the whole day away and wake after school ended. The teachers used to care about this terrible habit, but when the student passed semester after semester with near perfect scores, they cut their losses and left him alone.
Not this teacher. New to the school (and the education industry in general), the teacher tried to wake the student. When that failed, she continued with her lesson but stuck a message to the student’s forehead before she left.
The next time she came back to the same class, she tapped the student’s shoulder.
He woke up.
Without a word, he dragged himself to an empty seat beside one of the students struggling in class. He listened as the teacher taught, and when the time came for everyone to try out some exercises in class, he tutored the struggling student through the questions.
Days passed, and the sleeping student’s classmates kept him awake with requests for help, to the point that he could no longer sleep in class. But he was fine with that.
“How did you do it?” a teacher asked in the teacher’s lounge.
“We made a bet,” the new teacher said.
“I’d say we all did.”