Flash fiction: Damsel in Distress

– In response to flashxer prompt: “He was a real cliche. Top of the
heap. Strong as steel, a go getter who let no grass grow under his
feet, an overachiever who kept his nose to the grindstone and never
looked a gift horse in the mouth.”


He fought his way past the thorny briars and slew the ferocious
dragon—all without getting a spot on his gleaming armor. He climbed
to the highest room in the highest tower, took off his helmet, and
woke the sleeping princess with a gentle (but manly) kiss.

She snapped awake. “ARRRRRRRRRRRGH! Can’t anyone get any rest around

“But… but… Weren’t you a damsel in distress?”

“A damsel in _STRESS._ Which is why I was resting, until you very
rudely came along and woke me up.”

“I’m sorry! It’s just that I saw a dragon, and dragons usually guard
beautiful princesses and…”

“What did you do to my dragon?!” She ran to the window and saw the
bloody carcass. “Pookie! You killed Pookie! Don’t you know how hard it
is to raise dragons? Every time I manage to train one to sit and beg,
some dumb oaf comes along and kills it!”

“I’m sorry—I really am—forgive my—”

“And you chopped down my rose garden!”

“I’m really sorry about that, but I had to rescue—”

“I have HAD it with people who ASSUME that princesses need RESCUING
more than they need their BEAUTY SLEEP! OUT!” She bashed him with a
pillow. “OUT! I don’t want to see you ever again!”

“Okay! I’m sorry!” He backed down the flight of stairs, cowering
behind his shield as the princess pillow-whacked him all the way to
the ground floor.

“AND STAY OUT!” she yelled as he galloped off into the sunset. She
bolted the door, trudged upstairs, and started writing a letter.

Dear Dragons-R-Us…

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