Humor
ATBG
Twenty-four and still going out of her way to avoid basic interactions with familiar faces. Ginger drew in a few deep breaths through her thin, parted lips as her stubby legs went into overdrive to propel her in the opposite direction of her duplex. Now, instead of the usual two blocks it would take for her to get home from her weekly study session at Starbucks she’d have to take the long six block walk in the blistering heat, but she would also be less likely to run into anyone she knows which caused her to slouch her board shoulders in relief – making her appear shorter than her five foot six stature already did.
By Lyndia Walker4 years ago in Fiction
Reality Bites, Dear Kristen
She couldn’t put her finger on it. What was it? Could she have known that restlessness and a je ne se quoi draw would lure her down this grunge-dressed rabbit’s hole? Don’t be tempted by the evil bunny who both teeters on the edge and dwells in den, cocooned, wrapped up, in utero. Oh, but maybe she plays anyway. She’s young, it’s fun -- and this is L.A.!
By Samantha Der4 years ago in Fiction
The Potter's Notch Predicament
It was cold during the winter in Potter’s Notch. Damn cold. It was cold enough to freeze some body parts off a brass monkey. Potter’s Notch was one of the coldest places in the nation. Snuggled in a remote area among the Green Mountains of Vermont, it also had the per capita highest rate of hearing loss. The citizens of “Potty” (as they affectionately called their historic village) were not concerned until a group of Audio Anthropologists from Yale University came to town. They spent three weeks interviewing, testing, measuring, harrumphing, and recording data. Seeking a causal relationship between the cold climate and the high rate of Auris Diminicus Syndrome (ADS).
By Ed N. White4 years ago in Fiction
The Figure Under a Blanket
When I heard that the lake was haunted, I didn't expect the ghost to look like a figure with a blanket over its head. We'd gotten the tip back in Kentucky, and loaded up into the van. Of course we had Donna, our resident mechanic and the team's muscle. Then there was Larry, the science nerd who could make a bomb out of anything. Jean Paul and Marie, the trained exorcist and resident skeptic respectively. And of course, where would we be without Giovanni di Bicci de' Medici, aka Bick, the tuxedo cat who learned how to talk after one of Jean Paul's exorcisms went wrong.
By Littlewit Philips4 years ago in Fiction
Meme Boy
“Ok,” I say, “give me the worst movie idea you can think of!” Luke changes lanes and pops his Tesla into auto-pilot before relaxing back in his seat to give me his full attention. We have at least an hour of stop-and-go traffic ahead of us, and there was nowhere else I’d rather be. We’d been dating almost a month now and I “had big hopes for this one,” I’d told my mom on the phone earlier. On the other side of town dinner and a play awaited us--the world's most perfect date.
By Cara Loften4 years ago in Fiction
BANDING TOGETHER
As he had done almost every week for years, Arthur flipped through the church’s hymn book to select hymns for the service on the upcoming Sunday morning. It had become mundane, but as the music director for St. Arbuck’s there was little else he could do.
By Lloyd Farley4 years ago in Fiction
A DAY IN THE LIFE (GROAN MIX)
The alarm clock woke me from my fitful sleep. All night long I had the most vivid dream that I was a bicycle, and now I was just two-tired to get up. I hit the snooze button and pulled the blankets over my head in a futile attempt to catch a few more winks. Unfortunately, I had no more wink traps so had to let them go. Slowly sitting up, I turned to put my feet on the ground and walked lazily to the kitchen. Thankfully I had the foresight to set my radio coffee maker on the timer, so poured a cup and settled in for some rhythm and brews.
By Lloyd Farley4 years ago in Fiction
Why aren't my parents home yet?
An overwhelming restlessness approaches, my eyes flicker, darting to and from every corner of the room. Something about the clock on the wall irritates me. This is strange, they’re not usually out this long and absence in this house should not be taken lightly. When alone I don’t migrate from the open and barren living room unless necessary for survival. Why? Quite simple really: ghosts. They lurk around the house, infesting mundane objects and trying to control my brain. That being said, I’ve learnt a trick or two such as closing my eyes and walking quite hastily to ensure survival. My skills as an exorcist are quite mind boggling really, only to be topped by my occupation as a detective.
By Mahmood Saeed4 years ago in Fiction
Mike Peters is Dead
Everyone knows by now that Mike Peters is dead. It happened a couple of months ago. He was riding his bike home from school when it happened. He had stopped to rest by an apartment building when a TV fell out of a top apartment window and landed right on his head. That was the end of Mike Peters , tragic I know. My name is Pepper and Mike is my boyfriend, we have been dating since the start of our junior year of high school. You will notice I said Mike is my boyfriend and not Mike was my boyfriend. The truth is we are still dating . Sounds weird doesn't it? Well it is the truth we are still dating and he is still my boyfriend. There is just one little problem now he is a ghost. Just keep in mind, no relationship is perfect. I mean we all have our struggles to keep a relationship working. I don't know why Mike had to stop in front of that apartment building. If he would have just kept on going we would not be in this predicament. But he did stop there and now here I am dating a dead boyfriend.
By Adriane Kirby4 years ago in Fiction
I Think I Left the Iron On. Top Story - November 2021.
To quote a “Very Funny Fellow” – I started out as a child. I spent the first twenty-four years of my life acting like a child and doing some rather childish things. I didn’t date much before then and even when I did reach the one quarter century mark, I still much preferred ‘playing’ to working. I played hockey and baseball and football whenever I could. I skipped work occasionally so that I could play these games, and others. Some would have called me immature, but I prefer to think of my habits and behaviors as simply efforts to preserve my youth. In my 28th year, I got married (finally, by my mother's account). After being on my own for my entire life to that point, it was difficult for me to get used to the things I needed to do as a married man. I had to refrain from executing some of my favorite bodily functions in public (or even in private). I couldn’t watch sports on television any more than two or three hours per week. Dishes had to be washed after every meal. Bathing, showering and shaving became almost daily expectations. Chairs could no longer be used for hanging my clothes. And, articles left on the floor for more than one or two days often disappeared from my collections altogether.
By John Oliver Smith4 years ago in Fiction
