Humor
Unexpected Connections. Content Warning.
Micaela and I had been together for what felt like a lifetime. We’d fallen in love one sun-drenched summer when we were twenty, our connection as natural as the turning of the tides. I had always been faithful to her, and I believed she was the same not out of obligation, but out of a deep, mutual respect.
By Tales by J.J.2 years ago in Fiction
The Counter and the Coal
Not even otherworldly reindeer who fly are undying, and Dasher and Artist and Prancer and Lady, Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen were stories of Christmas mornings that had since a long time ago happen. Rudolph himself lived seventeen years: a good life expectancy for the typical hostage reindeer. In no way, shape or form a supernatural occurrence. Except if such a reindeer was among the fortunate not many to be housed in that frame of mind of a certain, southern toy shop. These reindeer would in general be more limited lived than most. Each Christmas a couple of St Nick's reindeer would miss the mark concerning the necessities expected to zoom all over the planet. This was not an incredible cumbrance to the actual mission. St Nick's brain was however sharp as his tummy seemed to be round, and he realize that the reindeer who couldn't last the excursion would be dead or near it once they arrived at Russia's nose, which seems to be that of an elephant seal. Then it would be set for The Frozen North. St Nick's sled, short a few reindeer, would fly across the Bering Ocean as leisurely as the petrels. Men on modern fishing boats would look into, point, and shout. Then they'd joke that Christmas would require an augmentation. It won't ever do. In the inside of Gold country, there carried on with a man of gigantic cash and very little riches, and individuals who realized him had named him the Counter. The Counter resided in a frail shack, where he slumped in his work area before the hearth, endlessly counting the cash he'd made off his reindeer the earlier years. 43 years, to be careful. At the point when the fire consumed low in order to make this cycle troublesome, he would get a piece of wood, throw it into the hearth, and his unending count, until he'd come to accept that the actual cash was the wellspring of his glow. Yet, until he could stand to purchase such a reality, somebody actually needed to slash the kindling. This somebody was a little fellow, an offspring of the clans who, a long time back, had been purchased with the Counter's cash. Or on the other hand rather, the dangers that would in general go with it, as certain as the obliteration that goes with a fire. The Counter enlightened him nothing regarding his legacy, other than the account of how his kin consumed the cash that had sold his actual life. They threw the rolled up bills — precisely 25 bucks — into the flares that cooked their meat. The kid got the feeling that his lord thought them fools for this. He, at the end of the day, didn't.
By Parmesh Patil2 years ago in Fiction
Hard Winds Blow Where Gold Hunter’s Dreams Die
Dear Mr. Tarantino, After driving a thousand miles to my gold claim in Western Arizona I found my partner totally indoctrinated by your podcast. At this moment he’s cranked out on NoDoz en route to Hollywood to cash in on this “once in a lifetime opportunity” that’s been stuck in his skull since hearing your Feb 6th episode. That’s where he got the crazy idea that used VCR machine sales are about to skyrocket. “No more digging up this goddamned desert,” he told me on the phone. “I’ll knock the dust off some old Sony Super VHS HiFi Stereo Units and make a killing off geeks like Tarantino and that Avary character he hangs out with.”
By Miguel Lasala2 years ago in Fiction
The Estate
The newlyweds arrived as twilight draped the world in its lingering glow, the sky a bruised palette of amber and deep violet. Amara stepped out of the car, her heels sinking slightly into the gravel, the cool air kissing her exposed shoulders and sending a delightful shiver down her spine. The silk of her blouse, a shade of deep crimson, shifted gently against her skin with each breath, the fabric catching the last rays of the setting sun.
By Tales by J.J.2 years ago in Fiction
Discover Proven Strategies to Inform, Inspire, and Captivate Your Audience with Every Word
The Power of Words: Crafting Engaging Long-Form Content In the age wherein we live with all the digital noise, words are a great and strong tool for informing, inspiring, and influencing. If you are a narrator, marketer, or educator, in that case, yes indeed there is an art for such long-form contents needing not only skill but will and intent. The next page looks at how one could use words to compose such compelling narratives to have their readers spellbound beginning from the start and on through to the end.
By GAURAV MEWAL2 years ago in Fiction
A Bloody Christmas
Once upon a cold Night. It was the night before Christmas, and all was still in the frosty neighborhood. Snow blanketed the ground, muffling every sound, and Tommy’s house glowed softly with multicolored lights. Inside, eleven-year-old Tommy sat perched on his bed, wrapped in his favorite blanket, peering out the window into the wintery darkness.
By Lynn Myers2 years ago in Fiction
Insomniac’s Manifesto. Content Warning.
In those fleeting and rare moments when sleep deigned me worthy to visit, the kaleidoscopic landscapes of my dreams were nothing short of whimsical, an oneiric phantasmagoria that bedazzled my subconscious mind with its riotous and wonderful splendor!
By Alex H Mittelman 2 years ago in Fiction
A Post-Christmas Wish The Present from the Future
It was the morning after Christmas, and the last of the wrapping paper had been discarded. The house was still, the glow of holiday lights dimming in the early morning light. Sophie sat on the couch, sipping her coffee, staring absentmindedly at the empty space beneath the Christmas tree. All the gifts had been opened, the holiday chaos was over, and the world seemed to return to its usual, quieter rhythm.
By Madison Zhao Fan Page2 years ago in Fiction
