Microfiction
Pissing on Fate. Content Warning.
I reach between my legs, past the thick black fuzz and probe between, in the hot, secret place. There it is! There's a knack. To release the pressure so you can pull it out easily. It slides out, and I angle it so that the contents plash on the white toilet bowl. Hitching up my knickers, I peer at the art I've made. It's a good one. I'd left the cup in long enough to get a good amount, but not so long it lost its colour. It's rich in detail, and I drink it all in. Metaphorically, obviously. Its consistency and colour, how far it's spread, where it's thickest, or brightest. How it moves down the sloping porcelain, too. Each clot Tells a story. Tea leave are for noobs. This is so much better. I will of course still pour my clients tea when they arrive, and peer at the leaves, like I'm peering at this right now. But I'll mostly do it for the look of the thing. Wait... that can't be right.
By L.C. Schäfer3 years ago in Fiction
Mystical Mirage: The Ego's Labyrinth
In the ancient land of Ardynia, nestled amidst lush forests and rolling hills, two opposing forces clashed: the Ego-driven and the Egotistical. At the heart of the conflict lay the mysterious Temple of Balance, a place of immense power where the forces of light and darkness converged.
By Anthony K. Bryan-KagintonPackage3 years ago in Fiction
'Secrets of Arcane Academy'
Nestled within the heart of the mystical forest stood the Arcane Academy, an imposing tower crafted from marble and infused with the very essence of magic. It was here that young wizards and witches honed their arcane abilities, seeking to unlock the secrets of the mystical arts. Among the students was Luna, a gifted mage with an insatiable curiosity for unraveling enigmas.
By TONE TALKS3 years ago in Fiction
Urning a Living
He had a treasure box where he kept everything he'd lost. He resisted reappraising them because it was the past. Rummaging through it would be like trying to translate Homer into Tarot, neither medium in his wheelhouse. How could things from his past be translated with the language of things to come? Things in his past were written in a dead language; things in his future still hid in probability clouds, awaiting sublimation.
By Gerard DiLeo3 years ago in Fiction
Mother's Day. Content Warning.
As she rounded the corner, she was met with a face that was just like hers. But Amy could sense that this woman's spirit was different. There was a cautious wariness to her, like she'd been wounded again and again and not all of the scars were sealed or healed. With every movement, she looked cowed.
By Rachel Deeming3 years ago in Fiction
