Humor
Creepy Date Night
About a lovely young lady who turns out to be somewhat terrifying for young men who wish to date her. Years ago, there was a young girl who lived in a secluded village with her parents. Her beautiful black hair, creamy white skin, and lovely oval eyes made her exceedingly attractive. Young Japanese men would travel long distances simply to ask her out on a date.
By Brandsandu5 years ago in Fiction
My Journey to Burnside Farm
Normally I prepare for my holidays well in advance, but on this occasion I did not. It was to be a week’s walking break in the Highlands of Scotland, staying at a farm that offered bed and breakfast and a packet of sandwiches for my daily roaming over the fells.
By John Welford5 years ago in Fiction
The Humanoid Living Factory That I Lead for My Survival Everyday
I am a human being. I am in the charge of the most complex living factory in the universe. This factory lies inside of me. Every single day, using this factory, I produce outputs using my resources, market those and sell those to earn. That earning is distributed among my employees who are working in various departments in the factory. The departments are responsible for conducting various activities.
By Moshiur Rahman5 years ago in Fiction
The Society
04/21/21 The Society Jan 28 The dreams keep getting worse. Sometimes they’re so loud, it’s like a bomb is going off. Other times, it’s deafening silence. Have you ever noticed how when it’s that quiet, the silence has its own sound? I guess that’s why we say it’s deafening. And there are screaming people. I don’t know which is worse: the dreams in which I can hear them, or the dreams in which i see them frozen with their mouths open and eyes bulging. There are bodies everywhere; most are motionless on the ground. The little bodies are the most disturbing because I know two things with full certainty: they are children, and they are dead. And there isn’t anything you can do for the dead.
By Emery Pine5 years ago in Fiction
The Execution and the Bee
I’m dying. As we speak, in fact. And this is not the first time, either. Not literally, of course. Don’t be silly. I mean on the inside, where true feelings get bottled up and stored away for use later when you get home, and your wife is too tired to tell you to how much she doesn’t care. That slow, agonizing type of death that’s worse than real death. At least, that’s what I presume. I’ve never actually died a real death. But I think I know what it might feel like.
By Michael Martin5 years ago in Fiction
Outdoor Dog
Chylde put binoculars in his backpack before leaving home. On the front porch steps, he found Bob-Arthur Royce Kennedy, his wild-eyed escape artist of a blue heeler, covered in dirt and waiting for a scratch on the head. Chylde pulled the dog by his collar through the gate at the side of the house and locked him up in the backyard.
By Jamie Todd5 years ago in Fiction
The Past Prologue
“Oh god, it feels like I’m being stabbed.” “How do you know what getting stabbed is like?” “I’ve been in this job a long time, kid. Can you drive?” My boss says, placing his hand over his side. I roll my eyes but nod, reaching for the company car keys that sat in a bowl next to the old oak door.
By Rachel Lynn5 years ago in Fiction
The Problem With the Marigolds
Quentin arrived just two minutes before the meeting was scheduled to start. He hated being that guy. He’d grown up with a mom who was always late for everything, the world revolved around her as she’d manifest herself into whatever ninth circle she was into. Quentin respected meeting start times. He prided himself on punctuality. He was mocked relentlessly for arriving at airports over two hours before his scheduled flight time. To him, it just felt like common sense.
By Christina Blanchette5 years ago in Fiction
A Clear Call for Justice
Christopher's fellow students knew where he was headed before the recess bell rang, and they knew the stakes. Some of them even cheered and applauded. Observing Christopher's swift stride and scowl on his face, a sea of elementary-schoolers parted to form a clear path in the hallway.
By CK Wetherill 5 years ago in Fiction
