Angi Minor
Bio
Hello, World! Greetings from the Angi den. I have always been told by my professors that I am an excellent writer. This is my first attempt at fiction. I am singer/songwriter as well. Angi Minor@soundcloud is my music site.
Stories (8/0)
Pennies on the Dollar
Juanita gently placed the tiny equivalent of a thumb drive on the server panel and walked into the adjacent bathroom of the bank tower. She opened her tablet and linked it to the server. She and her partner had planned this for a year and today was the day. All systems displayed “go” on her device. She waited patiently for her partner downstairs to activate his software program that he had designed specifically for hacking and withdrawing money from the bank accounts. One cent per dollar would be extracted and put into an offshore account in Caymans. The beauty of this program was that it was undetectable to any firewall and would appear to be depositing interest while simultaneously removing the money. The software was not a virus, but behaved like one for it would attack every bank in the United States. When calculated, this would be about a ten billion dollar heist. She licked her lips as she saw the dollars begin to transfer. If her partner was right, the bank would not know until closing of the robbery. She watched her timer and disconnected her device timely, collected her drive from the server, and smiled as she left.
By Angi Minor11 months ago in Fiction
Diary of Night Club Bathroom Wall
If walls could talk is something I hear my patrons say at least twice a week. As a dirty, written on, splattered daily with body fluids, dive bar bathroom wall, I could write a book about all the wild nights I have witnessed. Instead, I want to focus on one particular customer I have grown somewhat fond of. This person has kept me entertained with all of their enlightened words of humorous wisdom, and I watched this person for years. This individual has a proper name, but they have assumed an anonymous identity so as not to be prosecuted for defacement of me, but I know who they are, and what they do.
By Angi Minorabout a year ago in Filthy
A Ghost in the Tube
Eliza stared at the elevator and took a deep cleansing breath. She had been through this before with her psychiatrist and knew that her fear of the closed in moving closet she was about to get inside was just that. “Just a closet that moves up and down,” she mentally told herself. She had been seeing Dr. Deanna Stirling for over two years for her claustrophobia and was now ready to face her fear this time. She had failed her last ten attempts to board the elevator. She did not know if it was something that had happened to her in her childhood that evoked her physiological hyperventilation response to just the thought of getting into a small closed in space or if it was perhaps a flaw in her personality with control issues and an unattainable desire for perfection. Her physician had discussed her fear with her while coincidentally monitoring her blood pressure and watched the inexplicable rise so had referred her to Dr. Stirling. At least by climbing stairs her entire existence as far back as she could remember had helped her achieve the cardiovascular health of an Olympic athlete.
By Angi Minorabout a year ago in Fiction
The First Dragon
Chapter One It was only mid-morning in Atlandia and the day was fiercely cold for this time of the year. The tall trees cast filtered shadow light across the visage of Harrod Zyphlarus, village wizard as he walked using his staff for support up the slope to the way station trekking methodically between the tall dying grass. His granddaughter was saddling Ryzor to ride into town, a fortnight trip lately since the harvest was poor this year. The wind wasn’t too bad she thought. The beast turned to the approaching wizard, rumbled vocally, shifted impatiently as he ambled up. “There weren’t always dragons in the valley,” the old man said as he stuffed tobac into his pipe. “Ignaz tabake yuvo,” he murmured staring intently into the bowl. The air sparked above the pipe and he puffed quick and short, then drew deeply of his special smoking mix. “The Arch King ordered a bounty on all dragons when Draconir slaughtered Brhaweir village because her eggs were stolen. The dragons all left.”
By Angi Minor2 years ago in Fiction
