That boy's a fool; he'll be the death'a me yet, thought Granny-Bob. She spritzed a stream of ever-present snuff through the unwieldy gaps in her teeth, purposefully missing the boy's skinny arms, a'flappin' as he pedaled by.
It was all great fun, him juggling a half dozen machetes while riding a rickety unicycle in a lopsided circle—narrowing by design—to draw in the masses.
Granny-Bob smiled at the uproarious crowd. Her charge's simpleton act was convincing.
Look at all them rubes awatchin'. She massaged her gnarled hands—warming them. Limbering them. Readying them to relieve the audience of their bulky pocket change.
Lisa H. Owens
Inspired by an April 2023 Globe Soup monthly themed contest - Fool
(forgot to submit for the contest)
Mittens destroyed the kingdom. ‘Twas merely an accident, for though he looked ferocious, he wasn't a vengeful dragon—simply plagued by allergies.
Upon hatching, an approaching thunderstorm induced a sneezing fit, setting every candle wick aflame, and Sally realized she had a problem. Not in keeping a dragon (though it was frowned upon by the council), but in slathering a poultice of aromatic herbs and lard upon Mittens’ ruby throat at the first rumblings of thunder.
In a drunken stupor, she was, the night of The Great Storm followed by The Great Burn and fed-up villagers arrived wielding enchanted pitchforks.
Lisa H. Owens
Just 100 Words
100-Word Stories - April 2023 Photo Prompt
Keep it simple, Stupid!
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