Exercises in reflection, with some emphasis on Life's dark ironies and subtle humors.
Enjoy!
What is Ethical Non-Monogamy? ...And why is it such a mouthful? Well, all relationships are a mouthful, aren't they? ‘Ethical Non-Monogamy’ just keeps it real. But for all our sakes, I'll refer to it as ENM from here on.
By Whittler11 months ago in Families
The sun smiled down on little Hero’s operation: a wooden fold-out table, and a hand-painted sign propped precariously above it.
By Whittler2 years ago in Humans
The occupants of Green-Wood Cemetery were all underground, save two. One of the two stood at the bottom of a hill, looking up to its crest wreathed in aspens.
By Whittler2 years ago in Families
“Class, I would like you all to please welcome Miss Ninibeth March to Monroe High,” said Ms. Highchurch in 1st period. “Miss March, could you tell us a bit about yourself?”
The Beginning of Things for Turds Mr. Haneywoedle was born from Good Things one gloomy Thursday in October. By Good Things I mean peas, carrots, potatoes, broccoli, bananas, apples and apricots. Especially apricots - his Maker really loved those. For a turd, Mr. Haneywoedle was perfect – not too muscular and not too fatty. His texture and complexion were smooth and solid, and in length he was just above average.
By Whittler2 years ago in Futurism
Errol Hatch was penning a letter. He paused and looked up for a minute to think, and his gaze fell on Snickers. She was a cat, curled up in the bay window looking out onto the street. Errol noticed she was smashed into the window frame’s far right corner by now, whereas half an hour ago she’d been lumpily arranged right in its center. She was following the slipping sunlight across the sill and, of course, she did not move a muscle more than necessary in doing so.
By Whittler2 years ago in Petlife
Kettle Street was bursting at the seams with sunlight, butterflies and daisies showing off shamelessly. All of Life reclined happily and lazily in its natural state, for once wanting no mercy from Time. Everything here moved slowly, for the sun held Kettle Street as though suspended in a bottle of oil; turning it this way and that for its own amusement.
By Whittler2 years ago in Horror
