Psychological
Draft with Revisions
My father told me what life was. You go to school. You get a job. You earn money. You retire. My father didn’t offer this as advice, no. He described it as routine, a set way of doing things that had worked before. Years of hardship, repetition, and caution shaped this path. There was no room for discussion. I never questioned it because that seemed pointless, even wasteful, and waste was not allowed in that system.
By Lori A. A.2 months ago in Fiction
Unanswered
“Hi honey. I'm sorry I missed your call, I was in my meeting. I guess you must also be busy at the moment, haha. I'm sorry I missed you and sorry you've missed me, I'd love to have heard your voice right now. I'm on my way. This long distance shit is killing me, I can't wait to be back home, hopefully work never sends me this far away again.
By Liam Storm2 months ago in Fiction
The Baker's Paradox
Rutaa wiped the sweat draining off his bald head like a stream before drinking an entire goblet of water. The water wasn’t cool, nothing in his bakery was cool at the best of times, but the festival wasn't the best of times for a baker. He appreciated the humble reprieve none the less.
By Matthew J. Fromm2 months ago in Fiction
Unsaid
Beth hadn’t realised how cold her hands were until the mug stopped hurting. The café was too loud for a weekday morning. Cups struck saucers. Steam hissed. Someone laughed too sharply behind her. Beth wrapped both hands around the worn coffee cup and waited for the warmth to settle, for the ache to ease into something manageable.
By Courtney Jones2 months ago in Fiction
*#The Split#* Thursday, December 21, 2012
It was the day before court and this was supposed to be a quick and easy custody battle. Toby’s mother was hardly putting up a fight. With all the evidence she had practically handed him, and now Timmy breaks his arms sledding the day before court.
By Anton Mathias Heft 2 months ago in Fiction
Wednesday, October 24th, 2012
The courtroom in Kenosha County was brightly lit through the large row of windows along the Southern wall of the building. The antique wooden pews, wooden wall paneling and trim were all faded from many years of use. There was a musty smell that reminded Anton of the loft in his biological father’s garage, were he kept his stash of PlayBoy magazines. Unfortunately, that peaceful familiar aroma was being overpowered by the stench of body odor and weed radiating from the younger guy about ten feet away.
By Anton Mathias Heft 2 months ago in Fiction
