Okay, this was just a bit of fun. A few of the chat forum writers played with Round Robin flash and we came up with these two crazy stories. If you find it fun - come join us for the next round. Yes, they're not perfect - but here they are - as written - in the raw. Enjoy.

Guys and Dolls

As a child, he was told dolls were for girls. As he was lying face-down in a dumpster full of doll parts, he was inclined to agree. He spit out some plastic hair and pulled a doll head out of a crevice that shall remain unnamed.

“Should have listened to Mom,” he muttered, getting to his knees, cursing when a Barbie hand dug into his meniscus. “Should probably not have killed her.”

“What?” It was a shocked voice. A female voice. Just his luck. “You killed your Mom?”

She sounded like she knew him. “Uh. No?”

“But you just said you did, didn’t you?” the woman asked. He looked around wildly but didn’t see anyone. “I heard you.”

“You didn’t hear anything!” he snapped.

There was silence for a long moment, then, “Down here.”

He glanced down into the plastic face of...well, it wasn’t a Barbie doll, but it was smiling at him.

And it winked.

He scampered back, crab walking through the dismembered bits of dolls, but she kept staring at him. “I heard you.”

He saw her lips move. “What the hell!?”

“I heard you.”

“You--you said that! I heard you say that!”

“Well, I mean, obviously. I can talk, you know.”

He shook his head wildly. “No. No no no no. You don’t talk. You’re a doll, you don’t” talk, you just… well, you just are.”

“What I am,” the not-barbie face said, “is a biomorphic representation of a woman. You may call me Evelyn, if you like.”

He stared, completely flabbergasted.

“What’s… a biomorphic thing?” he asked. Sounded freaky. Like some sort of robot movie gone wrong.

“I was designed to function as a human being during test scenarios,” she said. “You know, crash tests, flight tests, zero-g tests. Earthquakes may also have been involved. But my creators abandoned me when he found me irresistible. So here I am, in this fucking dumpster, with a million representations of the male idea of what a woman should be. And a fucking wanker who killed his mother. So what the fuck!”

He picked the head up and stared into the fluttering eyeballs. So intelligent and glassy at the same time. Somewhere behind him he heard a vile squealing kind of noise. What the eff… As he dragged his body to turn around, still clutching the hair of the doll, the walls surrounding him lit up like a Christmas tree. Carter dove deeper into the pile of body parts. His previous position with the doll head up his… crevice… was almost preferable to this. He really was starting to regret killing his mother. This was some kind of punishment, he was sure of it.

“Mom?” he muttered, half-expecting some doll to come alive and stare at him with accusation in its dead, creepy eyes. “Uh, I’m sorry. I should never have shot you. But I was really into the game and you sucked so hard that I kind of had to.”

“What?” That same annoying squeaky little voice. Right, he was still holding it. “You killed your Mom in a game? That’s so lame.”

“One,” he said, spitting out doll hair. “Call of Duty is NOT lame and two, you’re a doll, so shut up.”

“How old are you? I mean, seriously, you’ve got to be in your thirties at least.”

“Twenty five and shut UP!”

He tried to stand up again and slipped on...an arm, probably. He hoped it was a plastic arm and not something else. Like a real arm.

“Could you maybe not carry me around by my hair, please?”

He paused. “So you want me to grab your chest? That’s...not right.”

“My waist, asshole!”

“Fine.” He changed hands, grabbing her gingerly around the plastic waist and trying--without success--to climb out of the Nightmare Before Barbie Town.x “Hey, so, maybe you could gimme some advice, Eve. Can I call you Eve?”

“I prefer Evelyn.”

“Oh. Okay. Evelyn. I really could use your help.”

She rolled those glassy eyes. “With what?”

“Well, see, the reason I’m here is that I’m kinda looking for… you know… a resting place. For Mom. I hadn’t exactly planned to kill her. It just kinda happened. Now I need to… you know…”

“Dispose of the body?” she finished. “And naturally, since you found me dumped here, you assume I’d be an expert in hiding unwanted bodies?”

“Well… yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Maybe you should consider.”

“What?” Why was he breathless? What was it about this doll. Carter ran his hand though the synthetic curls and an irresistible urge came over him. Without saying another word he scrambled over the pile of plastic body parts, holding onto her arm for dear-life lest she be lost in the plastic mess. He dragged her out of the skip and they were alone together - him and Ms. Plastic. Carter reached down, deep into his pocket fumbling around all the junk that hid in that dark crevice. Finally, his fingers found what he was looking for. Staring into those bright, blue, glassy eyes sparked something inside him. He pulled her close, unable to speak. He lifted the object with a quick “click”. Spark ignited into flame. Carter held the lighter closer to her hair, singing only the tip of the blond strands.

“What are you doing?” She screamed. “What the fuck are you doing, you no-good layabout loser?”

“I knew it,” Carter yelled. Triumph coursed through his veins, a heady feeling. “Consider this payback for making me eat broccoli.”

“You put me down this instant, young man,” the Mom doll shrieked. “Or you don’t have to bother coming home.”

Carter considered this. Giving up a warm bed, access to his favorite game consoles, to a hot meal every night… versus broccoli, and a mother who was apparently into dark magic.

Carter dropped the lighter. “Fine. But I’m never gaming with you again.”

“Fine,” she snapped back. “I never liked Call of Duty anyway. Those servers are full of tea-bagging spoiled brats. You’ll have to game with your father, from now on.”

Carter nodded. “I’m sorry for killing you.”

“I suppose you’re not entirely to blame,” she said. “I was a little overbearing about the broccoli. I promise from now on, you won’t have to eat quite as much of it.”

Carter’s spirits soared.

“I’ll be serving Brussels sprouts, too,” she added, shooting his spirits down.

“So… what now, Mom?” he asked, standing her upright and propping her against the nearby wall. Too late did he realise her state of… unclothedness.


“I suppose we should go home and finish the game.”

She smiled. “Yes. The game.”

His doll mother fell to her knees and her hands scrambled about on the floor - though she never broke eye contact. And then he felt it. The flame and the burning. He looked down and saw his own plastic body melting slowly into the tarmac. And the demonic look on his mother’s face as she torched him from the feet up - his own lighter in her plastic, unforgiving hands.

The Roof is on Fire

Another ceiling tile fell on Philip’s lap. “There’s another dang party going on upstairs. It seems like every other day they’re raving or whatever all those young hooligans do in their spare time.”

“Don’t get so frustrated about them. It’s not like they’re actually bothering you.”

“One of these times this place is going to actually fall apart, and we will be out on the street living in a box because we have nothing else. Is that what you want in life?”

“We won’t live on the street. You know your father--”


“But he--”

“No.” The light bulb on the ceiling flickered and died. Philip sighed. “Maybe.”

Virginia settled down into the chair next to Philip and smiled at him. “You know you’re just sore about that thing with the lizard—”

“On our wedding day!”

She shrugged. “Come on, let’s go get you some food. You’re always cranky when you haven’t eaten.”

“Yes, well, whose. fault is that?”

She stood and tugged on his sleeve. “Yours, obviously. Come on now. You know how to make a grilled cheese sandwich.”

He paused, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “With extra cheese?”

“Of course.”

Sighing, he let her win and got up. Stumbling into the kitchen, he paused as she halted by the fridge and picked her choice of delicious cheeses.

“Why, hello there.”

Philip turned slowly at the sound of the new voice. Behind him was a tall man, a cloak around his shoulders. He had one of those pointy beards—a goat-y?

“Ummm… who are you, and how did you get into my house?” Philip asked. Ginny, cheese block in hand, turned and squeaked at the sight of the stranger.

“I hear you have a problem with your upper-neighbours,” the man said. “I’m here to offer you a solution.”

“Er. What kind of solution? And why didn’t you answer my first question?”

“Well, time is wasting and in case you hadn’t noticed, your roof is on fire.”

“What the f---!”

“It’s okay; just a small blaze. It’s out now. Would you mind awfully if I remove this cloak? It’s bloody hot in here.”

“Be my guest.”

The strange goat-y fellow let his velvet cape drop to the floor, revealing what little he had on beneath it.

Two pairs of eyes like saucers took a step back in amazement. “Not the lizard!” cried Philip. A second later, the lizard was scurrying across the floor, heading straight towards the vent cut into the floor. With a diving leap, the goat-y man snatched the tip of the lizard’s tail, removing it from its body.

“I-I…” The man looked as if he had seen a ghost, watching the lizard whip its body into the floor.

“Curse you! First you storm into my house, lighting things on fire! You’re no better than that—”

“Language,” Ginny cautioned.


“Oh, the lizard didn’t do anything to you.” Ginny said calmly. She walked over to the storage closet and got a broom. With a few whisks, she managed to shoo the lizard away from the vent.

The goat-y man reached down and scooped up the rest of the lizard. He cleared his throat and sheepishly pushed the tail back on. Like magic.

“Now just what do you think you’re—”

“Now,” the goat-y man said, regaining his composure. “As I was saying, you have a neighbour problem. I happen to be in the business of neighbour solutions. For a small fee, I can help you.”

“What sort of fee? And how small?” Philip asked. Ginny had always accused him of being stingy with money. Prudent, he called it. How could they save for their future-kids’ college funds if they went around spending frivolously?

“I don’t deal in cash, if that’s what you’re worried about,” the goat-y man said. “I deal more in… well, the metaphysical. You see, I am Satan.”

Philip blinked. Ginny fainted dead on the spot.

“Um… what?”

“Yes. Satan,” the goat-y man repeated. “And I…”

“Yes?” A little breathless, Ginny involuntarily took a step forward. Her eyes were locked on the strange body beneath the cloak. All the naughty bits were hidden in strategically strange shadows, but her eyes, or perhaps her imagination, saw through the darkness.

Philip watched her, intrigued. “What do you propose - and what will it cost us?”

Goat-y man licked his lips, a peculiar twinkle in his eyes. “Everything’s negotiable, of course. My standard fee is the blood of your firstborn child.”

“-” Philip said. “You can’t be serious. Are you serious? There’s no way you’re serious.”

“You should have seen your face,” the goat-y man laughed. “I may be Satan, but come on, nobody's that heartless. My standard fee is a soul. It can be yours, your wife’s, a random person who owes you a debt.”

Ginny tugged on his sleeve. “You can’t seriously be considering this, Philip? Selling a soul to Lucifer?”

The goat-y man rolled his eyes. “Alright, I’ll say this once. I’m not Lucifer. Different corporate entity entirely. The book gets things all mixed up. You deal with him? You’re really up shit’s creek with no paddle.”

Philip thought for a moment, then pointed at the ceiling. “Him,” he said. “You can take his soul. He owes me for that ladder I loaned ‘em and he never returned.”

“Philip!” Ginny protested.

“Oh you don’t care about him, didn’t you just last week complain about the smell?!”

“I...well… yes, but that doesn’t mean I want his soul to go to Hell.”

“A subsidiary of Hell,” the goat-y man said. “By comparison, it’s rather pleasant. Everybody comes away with a tan, and it’s not forever. He’ll have the chance to redeem himself. Everybody does.”

“Oh.” Ginny was teetering. Philips could see it in her eyes, on the lines of uncertainty etched on her face.

“Deal!” Philip said, before Ginny could teeter the other way. “Get rid of those noisy neighbours, and we have a deal.”

“Excellent!” The goat-y man gave a sharp-toothed smile. “There is just one more caveat.”


“We have to seal our deal with a kiss.”

“Oh. Oh. Um…”

Ginny took a step forward but the goat-y man raised his hand. “No, sweetie. Not from you.” He gazed at Philip who recoiled back a step.

“Really. Did you think it would be that easy?”

Ginny took a step to one side, and Philip manned up and stood in front of her. Goat-y took one step forward and lowered his head to Philip’s mouth. But at the last, Philip smiled. Angel fire spewed from his lips and goat-y was lost in a sea of flames.

“Fucking demons,” said Philip. “They never learn.” And the ceiling tiles fell back into place and Philip took Ginny in his arms as they laughed.