JUNE 2020 75-Word Story -- VICTORY TO VICTORIA SILVERWOLF!

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The Song Of When

When the last realm tumbles
And the last wall crumbles

When the last sword is wrought
And the last battle fought

When the last page is turned
And the last book is burned

When the last tale is told
And the last slave is sold

When the last baby cries
And the last maiden dies

When the last king is killed
And the last blood is spilled

When only nymphs survive
Nature will truly thrive
 
Garden Gender Wars
Vermut panics as he creeps among Dame Appleringie’s herbs. Mandrake should be near mugwort and monkshood, but it’s gone. He must unearth the man-plant at midnight exactly, so its horrifying shrieks will grant him absolute power.
There. Finally. By the wormwood.
Midnight strikes. He yanks the plant up. The garden echoes to its horrifying … quacks?
Appleringie appears, laughing. “You’re too late, Vermut. We’ve changed things. Read the label.”
He bends. Reads. Curses.
It’s womanduck.
 
Crop Circles

“Nice out again.”
“Aye, Mother.”
“Crop should be good this year.”
“Aye, Mother.”
Father drew to a halt at the edge of the field. He chewed his grass blade thoughtfully.
“Say, Mother?”
“Yes, Father?”
“Was that flattened circle always there, or have the kids been rolling in the long grass again?”
“Can’t say I saw it this morning. But it couldn’t be the kids, they went to slaughter yesterday.”
“How strange. Say, fancy a tup?”
 

What They Grow in the Country


“There’s a new place on the Sydling road,” I said, “part Baroque, part Regency.”
“Figures.” Head of Planning looked up. “And?”
“It’s small, but there’s neither planning permission nor any sign of enforcement actions.”
“Actions on whom?”
“The owners.”
“There are no owners.”
“Strange,” I said
“What’s strange is that the parents haven’t announced the christening yet.”
“Parents? Christening? It’s a building.”
“It’s a child to the Manor born. Just wait until it starts walking.”
 
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