Mystery
Blurred Variables
Dear Albert, I hope this letter finds you in good health in America, and that your research in the realm of quantum theory progresses smoothly. I fear the same cannot be said of my own mental well-being. I have done something unforgivable. Or may not have done. I am of two minds about this. Let me explain.
By Josh Matic5 years ago in Fiction
Triple Chocolate Cake
I was expecting the care package from my grandmother to come any day now, so I wasn't surprised to see one sitting by my mailbox. What surprised me was how it looked, wrapped in dirty brown paper that looked like it might have been part of a grocery bag at one time. My father's mother had more money than she knew what to do with. There was no way the package could possibly come from her. Mimi, as she preferred to be called, would probably have a heart attack if she even saw this.
By Elizabeth Owen5 years ago in Fiction
Special Delivery
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. 6:00 AM I groggily slap my hand around till I find my phone and turn the stupid alarm off. It feels too early. I open my eyes to see what time it is. 6 AM! What idiot sets an alarm for 6 AM on a Saturday?! OH, that’s right, me. I’m that idiot because today is the day. The day I finally get my shit together. And because I was the idiot that set the alarms, I can either get up now, or turn off alarms at five-minute increments for the next hour.
By Farah Thompson5 years ago in Fiction
Plain Brown Wrapper
1 My life had become isolated and uneventful since Covid-19 shut the world down. To keep my job, I began to work remotely, doing the same job I had for years, but now in my apartment. Turns out I didn’t have to commute daily through horrible traffic to a packed office full of gossip and cliques worse than high school. I was already much of a loner without many friends, didn’t go out to bars, clubs or parties and had very little social life. I enjoyed my own company and that of my cat, Bruce. I became familiar with multiple forms of delivery systems and utilized them all. Brown boxes and bags at my door were no surprise. As it turned out, the Covid-19 quarantine wasn’t so bad.
By Elizabeth Crow5 years ago in Fiction
Postal
Herbie Joyner hated his job. Sure, it took his uncle over a month of negotiation with the regional director, and transferring to the Hayvenhurst branch to open up a spot for him, but Herbie hated his job nonetheless. He wouldn’t call himself “ungrateful” about the whole thing, though. People would, especially the people who’d been queuing up to recommend a sister or a cousin or some good friend for the rare job opening that Herbie somehow snoozed his way into, only to immediately regard it with disdain.
By Mike Morgan5 years ago in Fiction
The Package
You’re overreacting, she thought as she angrily wiped the tears from her eyes. She stood outside her apartment door, staring at the little brown box sitting neatly in the middle of her welcome mat. She looked around but saw no one. You’re overreacting, she told herself again.
By Kristen Stillman5 years ago in Fiction
Wishes
The birds in the harbour swooped and dived as if flight was something new, a skill they had invented only this morning. Boats bobbed on the water as boats invariably bob on water. It was sunny, not too hot yet, but with the few clouds thinning, the day was losing the battle against the summer heat.
By Wilkie Stewart5 years ago in Fiction
Mystery-Maker
I make mysteries. Oh that sounds eerie, just like that. It’s best to say: I assemble a plotline and compile different routes and clues by which a crime-enthusiast then meanders, in hopes of winning the satisfaction of unveiling a mystery and therefore the honour that comes with that level of Sherlock-holmian ability. Funnily enough, that has been the pushing factor for some users to go and enrol in the study of criminology or forensic science, but that’s not why I do it. My own fascination comes with that childish excitement you experience when working through the steps a real assailant or mysterious missing cake would make, without the necessity of dealing with an aftermath. Simply a good feeling and if you’re romantic, a moral.
By Sasha Polakov5 years ago in Fiction
