Humor
Two Parakeets on a Wire
So, I says to the ole lady who's hell bent on calling me Stella her favourite few words, "Jimmay, gemme anotha beea", she laughs, he gets her the beea from the fridge and one for himself, too. They were watching other people talking which apparrotly amuses them just as much as I have and start gettin' kinda silly, you know in the way humans do when they have nothin' to do but drink beea and munch on chips. Out of nowhere while I am dozin' on this kid swing they had in my prison cell, Jimmay gets up and stumbles by and says, right at me mind ya', "Hey little Stella, I bet you want out of there; have you ever used those pretty wings?" He unlatched the opening where they stick there fat hands to give me the same crap of tropical bird blend every morning and then he tries to touch me; I felt so helpless, kinda violated if ya' know what I mean. So, he ruffled my feathers a bit and he backed off sayin' "didn't mean to scare ya' little Stella" and he plops down next to my ole lady and starts watching people talk again. At first I hesitated and just pushed the little door open a bit with my beak; I perched up on the edge neither in or technically out of the joint. I see that the window is clearly open and decided, it's now or never. I flew the coop, never looked back and wound up at a park full of little people shouting and sitting on the same kind of swing I had, but bigger of course. The sky starts to get dark and part of me thought I should get back to my ole lady and Jimmay, you know, kinda spooky like the Stockholm syndrome. I mean, they fed me and thought I was cute and all. Then, I overheard some fowl feathered tree mates laughing about me. I didn't understand them at first with their pigeon like accents but I did make out that they said I was a male named Stella and it was hilarious to them that I didn't even know what I was. They went on to say that if I survive the night I'd best wind up in a zoo with "his kind". Geez, I was terrified. A zoo? I didn't have a clue what they meant and thought it best to leave the tree then, before it was too late. I flew straight back to Jimmay and the ole lady's apartment but the window was closed. I sat all night on the ledge and said, "Jimmay, gemme anotha beea" over and over but noone came. I was mortified. I could see through the glass my tropical seed blend, my full water bowl, my little swing and started to bawl my eyes out. That's right when you flew by. What are the chances of somebirdy lookin' like me in this town? I followed you, discreetly at first so as not to spook ya' and well, I just wanna say thanks for sharing with me the survival skills you've mastered. Here we are, eh? A paratweets sharing fruit in a junkyard, haha. - STELLA! - "Now that was loud!" - Could you shut your trap for once? - "Sorry master, I was taught that talking was a real treat". - We are tropical birds in a dump on Long Island, that's it, that's what we are. We ain't show birds no more, we're homeless, and my name is Mister, not master. It's short for Mister Avery Johnson. Got it? - For once Stella was quiet, his head drooped to the side sadly. Making humans laugh was how he'd spent the last three years and here he was with his mirror image staring at him with grumpy eyes. His last words to Mister Avery Johnson, or anyone for that matter were, "I promise not to say another peep".
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)3 years ago in Fiction
Cleopatra
Welcome, history buffs and humor fans, to a rollercoaster ride through the chronicles of human progress! Today, we're unloading the shocking life and seasons of Cleopatra, the sovereign who swaggered through history with more show than your number one unscripted television show. Snatch your popcorn, lock in, and return prepared for an excursion once again to the days when domains conflicted, relationships sizzled, and Cleopatra ruled!
By Michael Oregbuyide3 years ago in Fiction
White
There are some missions that are so important that once you start, you can’t go back. This was one of those missions. I was chosen, hand-picked, out of a group of 5 individuals because I was the strongest person for the job. At least that’s what they tell me. I believe that they chose me because I was the only one dumb enough to do it.
By David E. Perry3 years ago in Fiction
Lost...Again
I can hear your noise and developing anger as you search throughout the house to find me. The opening of closets and drawers closed a bit more forcefully each time as your frustration blooms in the search that has not yet produced positive results. Time is also whispering in your ear, “You’re gonna be late again.” Increasing the feeling of frustration you have over a gradually forgetful memory.
By Doug Caldwell3 years ago in Fiction
Wandering Zombie
Somewhere In the realm where the digital met the tangible, where reality and virtual existence intertwined, there existed a young adult girl named Renna. Adorned in goth fashion and an overabundance of black and silver accessories, it was almost as if she was prying attention away from the clear fact that she was also undead. A zombie. With her ghostly white hair and piercing green eyes, she roamed the planes, a quirky creature navigating the labyrinth of ones and zeros.
By WanderingZombie3 years ago in Fiction
20/20
The irony is not lost on me as you bumble around the room in a dull witted panic; you cannot see without me, but you need to see to find me. If I could laugh, I would. Instead the beads of my chain click and jingle while you squawk at your husband and throw cushions to the side. It's not a bad place to start. More than once I've slipped down, down, down between the cracks and ended up somewhere in the darkness with the mothballs and the crumbs. Greasy fingers have reached down to grip me, then left me where I lay. My crime? Being the wrong shape.
By S. A. Crawford3 years ago in Fiction
So Many Commemorations, So Few Days
January 19 is National Popcorn Day, National Gun Appreciation Day, and New Friends Day. True, these are the product of self-promotion on the part of, as examples, The Popcornhusker State, PopNebraska; the gun lobby, who feels we should appreciate how guns — VERY easily — put extra holes in people; and — perhaps — your old friends who think it might be time to get some new friends.
By Gerard DiLeo3 years ago in Fiction
The Character Assassin
MAX MORODA: CHARACTER ASSASSIN CHAPTER ONE: AN EXISTENTIAL THREAT Max was sitting in his local bar in the evening, brooding over a whisky and beer chaser. He'd not long come back from his last mission, which had left a sour taste in his mouth. Marty McFly had been a slippery little bastard: didn't help that Max didn't really want to kill him. But, back to the future, and not for him to argue. Except this time.
By robert fisherman3 years ago in Fiction
