Short Story
Alice Meets Alyss
Tired of being alone, tired of being the only one to ever do anything wrong, tired of being just "that girl", she stormed out the back door and into the yard. The crash of the door against the jam resounded through the quiet afternoon air. She stood in the center of the yard, the uncut grass tickling her shins through her black and white striped stockings, breathing rapidly in anger and frustration. She wanted to scream.
By Rachal Flewellen5 years ago in Fiction
The Witch Of Cumberland Ave.
When I first saw Mrs. Moore she had a colander on her head and was wearing a green plastic trash bag poncho. She was on a rickety old ladder cleaning out the gutters of her dilapidated house. I congratulated myself on my good fortune — she appeared to be engrossed in her project and her back was towards me as I was attempting to stealth-walk past her front fence without being noticed. I was premature in my celebration as it turns out.
By Valerie Kittell5 years ago in Fiction
The Wedding Toast
You’re looking at me like I’m nutzos. Here’s a guy in a tuxedo vest rooting around like a trash bandit. I promise there’s a good reason. Just give me a minute to explain. See that? You’re a total stranger and I felt the need to explain myself to you. That need happens to be what brought me to this point.
By Peter Wisan5 years ago in Fiction
The Amazing Instant Infant
“Customize your child!” The man on the screen announced excitedly. Dawna and Phil turned to the sound. They were a typical couple. She came from a Korean family. He was Nigerian, Phil Obasi was his full name. They’d been married for five years. They lived at 23 Cherry Tree, the street name and number of a tiny square of dirt, but, as Phil liked to say, it was all theirs and if you considered that their ring of land went straight through the earth, the sixteenth of an acre stretched into a thousand miles.
By Peter Wisan5 years ago in Fiction
We Can Never Run. We Can Never Hide.
"Run, Run, Run, that's all we ever do. Why can't we do something unconventional for a change?" Austria said as she threw her arms down. "Sweatheart, keep running, please, we are almost there–" my husband, Ian said before three IO guards rudely disrupted him.
By Ceo Of Dying5 years ago in Fiction
There's One Just Like it Everywhere
"Tell me a story, stranger." The guy on the opposite stool was a typical weekday drunk, full of good humor at the pain of others and caustic remarks at nothing at all. That he was polite to me was an oddity; perhaps he sensed that I was different, that I was less tethered to this place and its vices than those of his usual company.
By Andrew Johnston5 years ago in Fiction
The Man On The Train
Tap, tap, tap... The tapping was constant and annoying. Somehow it rose above all the chatter and clanking and rustling of the usual noise of the morning commuter train. She sat a bit straighter in her usual seat. A window seat with her briefcase placed on the empty seat next to her, looking at no one, speaking to no one. She always sat at the same seat on the same train 5 days a week to work and back,
By Susan Lewis5 years ago in Fiction
Lotus coming out of crystal-clear water
Once chatting with my old classmates, he said: "Looking at these greasy women around me reminds me of Tan Wenke's classmates. She is really a lotus in clear water." I can't help but sigh that this male student's words are really appropriate. "Lotus comes out of clear water" is often used by trendy love novels or small fresh meat to express the highest praise for girls. Such an abstract word falls into reality, only Tan Wenke.
By Gottlieb Lyle5 years ago in Fiction
