She smiled as her children noisily ate their meal.
—
The zombie apocalypse doesn’t change your family.

She smiled as her children noisily ate their meal.
—
The zombie apocalypse doesn’t change your family.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” I asked, trying to get a look at the sonogram.
—
My husband frowned at the screen and asked the nurse, “What is that?”

Through the camera I could see the man who had followed me home.
—
“Excuse me,” said my downstairs neighbour as she left the building.

After over twenty years of jumping out of aeroplanes, I’m doing my last skydive ever today.
—
My parachute won’t open.

Struggling in the cold, black water, I swam for the surface.
—
My fingers brushed the bottom of the lake.

As a teenager, I’ve always dreamt of having a girl knocking on my bedroom window.
—
I wish the thing with the sewn-up eyes and the long teeth would go away, though.

The builder my wife had hired was fantastic.
—
So, I knew I’d never escape.

I felt her warm breath against the back of my neck.
—
The grizzly had found me.

He had done it; he’d gone back in time and changed history for the better.
—
Then he felt himself beginning to fade.

Shortly after the familiar pitter-patter began, my wife grabbed her umbrella and headed outside for a walk.
—
Five seconds later she started screaming: “BUGS!”
