Practicing gratitude/ uplifting story thread

AnRoinnUltra

AnRoinnUltra

Sci-Fi Seanachaí
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Hello Chrons,
Just sticking this exercise in here in response to a discussion in the November 2021 75 Word Challenge comments.
I think it is fair to say that it it is a good idea to be grateful -the thread pointed out that it can be hard to write an uplifting short short story.
So ...100 words or less, practice your writing of uplifting stories here:
 
The smell of gratitude

Albert Gulladaw was anxious.
Nobody ever found their way out of Stombley woods.
Or lived to tell what was in there.
He now knew:
  • Trees.
  • Human remains.
  • And the odd badger.
Oh yeah -I nearly forgot; mist. A thick disorientating mist.
Albert had wandered off the trail to take a dump, and was so taken with the joy of dropping his load he staggered into the trees.
Three days of blindly stumbling followed, before exhaustion forced him to sleep.
It hit him when he woke.
The unmistakable smell of sh*te.
Albert smiled to himself, and gave thanks for his stink.
 
Before Dawn

I undressed quietly in the dark, gently lifted a corner of the duvet and slipped in. The warm, welcoming dark wrapped itself around me. Such bliss.

I lay still as I warmed up, planning the day ahead. My mind drifted to the children, remembering when they were small and how happy and proud I was as they each passed their milestones. How happy we were.

A slight movement, a susurration as he turned and slid an arm around me. I turned, we spooned. He mumbled, “Thanks for putting the rubbish out.”

I breathed in his scent, smiling. “Thank you!”
 
The Carnival Sign

“WIN AND CHANGE YOUR WORLD!”

“Yeah, right!” thought Zach sarcastically. But he picked “A Duck for A Buck” anyway.

“Grand Prize!”

Stunned, the carnie’s eyes went wide. “Here’s your bear. Good luck!”

Chuckling, Zach headed for some food. Unfocused, he tripped bashing his head on Sue Brown’s table.

Sue helped him up. Before the medic was done patching his head, he gave her the bear and she gave him her number.

Later, head still hurting, he called Sue.

They laughed about that sign; for years, but were ever so thankful to have found the love of their life.
 
Thanks, but No Thanks

Ochdoch McGloch is an odd duck. Many say he’s possessed with supernatural powers. But you know how people are, they say any old rubbish to avoid tickle torture. Particularly in this economy, when the tickslicutioner's tickling stick is looking threadbare and forlorn. Driver shortages, you know.

Well, blow me down, Ochdoch McGloch took pity on old ticklemeister, and rounded up all the other two ducks and together they donated their tickliest feathers to the cause.

“Please accept our feathers for the vital work you do for the community,” says Ochdoch.

“Good Lord!” Says tickslicutioner, “a talking duck!”
 
THE HORROR OF THE DUNES

The eighty mercenaries pelted back down the beach to their hovering dropship, pursued by the million writhing snake-headed vines of Ek-Shubharoth. Jenny watched them go. “Thanks for protecting us again,” she said. “Hey, we made you jam doughnuts! You want?” Ek-Shubharoth’s nearest feeding appendage delicately plucked the doughnut from her fingers, flipped it into the air, and swallowed it. Then it nuzzled her hand affectionately. “Good boy! There’s another two tons of them back at camp.”
 
Spooky McSpookerson's Tragic Roundabout

Spooky McSpookerson loved being a ghost. Most of all he loved jumping out of the bushes and terrifying cyclists. It was brilliant.

However, Spooky had a problem. Every successful “prank” became a disgruntled tenant on the roundabout on which he afterlived. The complaining really bummed him out.

Then, Spooky had a plan. He was going to throw a massive party with ghost DJ’s and ghost cake and ghost booze. His neighbours soon got into the swing.

“See! Being a ghost isn’t so bad!” said Spooky, smiling as the sight of a ghost disco added another tenant to the tragic roundabout.
 
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