You’re the first one to the show. You slide down the row of plush chairs and sit The curtain rises. On the stage is a row of a plush chairs. A masked figure is sitting there. Someone is standing behind them. He’s got a knife “I love this part.” Whispers the person behind you

“Victor! I don’t think we can be friends any more.” Victor lowered the brain, stunned. He didn’t know his Assistant thought they were friends. Or that Igor might even be capable of having a friend. He realized with shame that he did not really even consider the man to be human.

You’re in the store and your husband is talking and for a moment an unforgivable thought crosses your mind. But it’s just a thought. Unvoiced, harmless. A man is watching you, and you can tell he heard you. But he winks. He’s heard worse.

The skeleton considered the celebratory conversation dispassionately, then shrugged. “This is great and all.” It said, sinking into loose soil at its grave. “I’m going back to death.”

“You don’t have friends, man, you have a legion of women you’ve tricked into being your therapists.” He considered the Orb of Truth. It was a little weird to be called “man” by an ancient artifact. It was true, sort of. But you could say true things in unnecessarily cruel ways.

“You know how the empire’s troops can’t aim?” “Yeah.” “I think it’s because they don’t learn to write their names in the snow.” Thr wizard fist bumped the Ranger, and then they zipped up their pants. She’d done hers in cursive.

The Witchhiker checked her stethoscope. It didn’t matter, because she recognized these symptoms. Sluggishness. Unusual appetite. Formation of switches, doors and sliding block puzzles… This dragon had a bad case of dungeons.

You lost the oars hours ago. You would have thought it an accident but you see her following your boat. There’s a knife hung round her fins, and a hook in her ear. And she’s coming for you. She can wait. She and her knife can wait. The Merderer

It is the morning of the day after Christmas. It is unseasonably clear snd bright, even as frost traces its delicate art on your windows. Your ex-fiancé’s flight home touched down in the city. You wonder if he’ll stop at your favorite bakery on the way home.

The hunters came, with a plan to kill everything that wasn’t immune to bullets.

"Drive a nail through a ha'penny and into the ledgerbook, and for one night, you can command a ghost." "What if I nailed down a shilling?" "What sort of man would need four ghosts, Mr. Cratchett?"

Nervously, he plucked a likely specimen and held it over his head. There was a sinister rattle as the viper descended. It inspected the apple, then, in a gesture which defied vision, struck. When the farmer opened his eyes the snake released the apple, leaving two small holes.

The farmer walked the orchard until he came to the Last Apple tree. He’d agreed to grow it and tend it, and for this the witch promised him a bountiful harvest. She’d always delivered, and so the farmer had never seen the harm. Sometimes, he worried that he ought to look harder

The sentry stood up straight. You can’t see his face through his checkerboard visor, but you can tell you’re in Trouble. But that’s the Risk you take when you face the Game Knight.

The Thirty Pointer is the king of the Stray Woods. The trees bow to let him pass. It is a ritual amongst the deer camps to tell tales of seeing him, and even hunting him. But in their heart, every hunter knows they could never truly pull the trigger

She didn’t light up a room but she certainly darkened a doorstep

The time travel officer checked the passport. He checked it twice. There was no WAY that this was Napoleon Bonaparte. He was born in 31X5! He checked it three times. He reaches for his stamp. He checked it four times. There was no way… There was no way.

You’re in an alley. It’s been a long, long day. A raccoon is watching you from a garbage can. Even under ordinary circumstances this would be awkward. But this raccoon is riding a brightly-plumed velociraptor. And he’s holding a very badly drawn picture of you.

Death lowered his sickle. It was dead. Extinction lowered her meteor. It was extinct. Oblivion lowered their candle. The last living, everywhere. “So… did you guys want to get a pizza?”

After the apocalypse, you were able to fix everything. In a glowing golden wave, night became day and every damaged building and dead person was restored, like new. And everything was fine Every restored building is fine Every revived person is fine.

“It’s a civil war. Which side are you on?” “I don’t care as long as it’s the side behind the line of fire.”