Humor
The Road, Testily Traveled
It was the Year of Our Lord 1989, and I had made the dubious decision to leave my now famous hometown in the San Francisco Bay Area. 19-year-old me was convinced that relocating to a small town in Pennsylvania (with a name so ridiculous I daren’t reveal it) was a viable plan, mostly because, well, there was a guy involved. Given that it would be years before either the internet or cell phones would become a “thing”, we met by way of a mutual friend’s underground ‘zine. The fact that we broke up 2 years later and have had no contact whatsoever in nearly three decades only underscores the indispensability of fully developed planning and decision-making skills, which I’m proud to say I have now honed, at least somewhat.
By Meigan Carson 4 years ago in Fiction
A Former Superhero Chapter 3: Planet Gaxi Supply Run
Jeremiah is now entering Planet Gaxi’s atmosphere and sees the grand futuristic city that is the capital of the planet with the palace that looks like a gigantic spire smack dab in the middle of the capital. The familiar scenery reminds him of his old friends, Tech Boy and Tech Girl and he flashbacks to their untimely demises.
By Jeremiah Ellison4 years ago in Fiction
The Factory
Resting at the very top of the Minamax building, looking out over a grey sea of rooftops, was a very important room. This was a room where decisions were made and strategies were formed. Being an important room, it was filled with important people, important papers and very important diagrams on a large and important-looking whiteboard. Today the whiteboard showed a box with four quadrants. One contained a crudely drawn dog; another, a question mark; the third, a cow; and the fourth, a star.
By Yvette Absalom4 years ago in Fiction
Underwear, Outerwear & Travel
I hate packing. In fact, packing and procrastination go hand in hand in my book. Worse still, packing becomes more tedious with age. Let's face it, you grow older and as such, require more external assistance to simply get through your day. What do you need to pack as a carefree twenty-one year old? A smile, LBD, credit card, inherent lightness of being and a clean pair of underwear (the latter being optional dependent on how sunny your disposition is). In turn, packing in your thirties becomes harder still with the stress of kids and their essential items. This includes nappies, spare clothes, ear plugs and Polaramine for both Mum and baby alike.
By Jaimmy Hountalas4 years ago in Fiction
A Cat Called Eggs
I first caught sight of Eggs, The Ginger Terror, as he flew out of my peripheral vision, an orange streak of light in hot pursuit of an enormous black cat that I had nicknamed ‘The Panther.’ The Panther had earned his moniker by merit of his largeness and his predilection for pouncing on field mice from the limbs of an old, twisted apple tree that stood in a vacant lot across the street. The tree now provided sanctuary as he shot up its trunk to a top limb. Fast on his heels, Eggs stopped only at its base, satisfied at having treed his quarry. He stood firm for a moment, staring up at The Panther, his tail held straight and high, like a puffy orange battle flag. Then he turned and trotted purposefully back towards our building. “Wow.” I said out loud, to no one. “That cat is a badass.” Mr. Beans whined from behind the screen door. He had been watching the chase scene with intense enthusiasm, as chasing things is his primary interest in life.
By Heather Walters4 years ago in Fiction
A Cat Called Eggs
I first caught sight of Eggs, The Ginger Terror, as he flew out of my peripheral vision, an orange streak of light in hot pursuit of an enormous black cat that I had nicknamed ‘The Panther.’ The Panther had earned his moniker by merit of his largeness and his predilection for pouncing on field mice from the limbs of an old, twisted apple tree that stood in a vacant lot across the street. The tree now provided sanctuary as he shot up its trunk to a top limb. Fast on his heels, Eggs stopped only at its base, satisfied at having treed his quarry. He stood firm for a moment, staring up at The Panther, his tail held straight and high, like a puffy orange battle flag. Then he turned and trotted purposefully back towards our building. “Wow.” I said out loud, to no one. “That cat is a badass.” Mr. Beans whined from behind the screen door. He had been watching the chase scene with intense enthusiasm, as chasing things is his primary interest in life.
By Heather Walters4 years ago in Fiction
A Cat Called Eggs. Top Story - December 2021.
I first caught sight of Eggs, The Ginger Terror, as he flew out of my peripheral vision, an orange streak of light in hot pursuit of an enormous black cat that I had nicknamed ‘The Panther.’ The Panther had earned his moniker by merit of his largeness and his predilection for pouncing on field mice from the limbs of an old, twisted apple tree that stood in a vacant lot across the street. The tree now provided sanctuary as he shot up its trunk to a top limb. Fast on his heels, Eggs stopped only at its base, satisfied at having treed his quarry. He stood firm for a moment, staring up at The Panther, his tail held straight and high, like a puffy orange battle flag. Then he turned and trotted purposefully back towards our building. “Wow.” I said out loud, to no one. “That cat is a badass.” Mr. Beans whined from behind the screen door. He had been watching the chase scene with intense enthusiasm, as chasing things is his primary interest in life.
By Heather Walters4 years ago in Fiction
