Satire
Pink Buds. Top Story - June 2026. Content Warning.
Running through the weed patch, laughing, I listened for the others as they ran all around me. Who knew there was such a gold mine, or rather, field, right here outside the city limits? Jay Jay had stopped somewhere up ahead, and I could hear him with his “Blessed Mother Mary’s.” While Will and Trina were giggling together somewhere behind me, Suzie was just ahead of me, just as giddy as I was, looking over her shoulder like she wanted to ask me a question.
By Mother Combs5 months ago in Fiction
The Two-Second Loneliness Metric. Runner-Up in They Shouldn’t Have Come Here Challenge.
It was an unwritten rule that personal shadows must be masked by makeup, and libidos governed by a click. Behind her fingers, she concealed the cleft of her mouth and a pained smile, remembering the morning's obligatory compliments while she tracked the data on her dual screens. The midday sun struck her two front teeth at an angle, making them gleam like a pair of fresh ivory piano keys, perfectly flushed against the gum. Beyond the office glass, the May warmth stirred, caterpillars crawled, and the spring blossoms surrendered to veined verdure. The market was shifting, and the hour no longer belonged to her.
By Caitlin Charlton6 months ago in Fiction
Branded
Brief Intro This is sort of influenced by the videos and songs above. Tesco invading Denmark is satire but is becoming closer to reality. This is what might happen in globalization reaches one possible conclusion and brands buy out governments and take over countries. Let's face it many politicians are owned by corporations and "brands".
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 6 months ago in Fiction
Intergalactic Monday
In the year 3026, the printers still fear management. 🤖🚪🖨️🚪🤖🖨️🚪🤖🖨️ Stargate, 3026 Monday morning crept upon Leonard, who slammed the audioforous alarm down with a swipe of his smartwatch-o-gram. He donned his office fleet pinafore. Flying to the office was impossible -- he had released the air from his VR Nike shoes the night before.
By Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin6 months ago in Fiction
The Absurd Same-Name Incident
The lights flickered on at the teen walk-in clinic. Jerry, the opening attendant, began his rounds to set up the place. Just a day like any other , he thought as he restocked the pamphlets. Little did he know how wrong he would be.
By Gabriel B. Shames6 months ago in Fiction
Kanawa and the Living Forest
Kanawa silently drew the sacred horn knife as his child whimpered on his knee. Midday light beamed through the forest, a harbinger of the coming darkness. Blood trickled out of the harsh wound from the invader’s weapons upon the caribou's hindquarters, staining the undergrowth below. As the innocent blood soaked into the soil, Kanawa felt the desperate summoning begin–his last gambit to stem the tide rising on their shores.
By Matthew J. Fromm6 months ago in Fiction
Hairy Potter
A story By: Stanley Komarniski Hairy Potter sat quietly in the cellar in the dirt where his bed was. He lived with his alcoholic uncle, Vern Potter, who for the most part kept him locked in the cellar. Vern had no wife or children and only took care of Hairy for the money provided from Hairy’s estate that was setup when Hairy’s mother died. No one knew who Hairy’s father was. Since no one really cared about Hairy, no one tried to find out.
By Stanley Komarniski6 months ago in Fiction
Shelf Life
I sit on a shelf in the dusty corner of the local hospice charity shop. I sit and wait. Wait for someone to take pity on me. My lacy exterior, fishnetted bulletproof sexuality hides the burden of what I've endured to reach this stage in my life when I am sat on a shelf as people look for bargain deals on preworn bras and knitting needles or that autobiography by Melania. How did I get here you might ask? How did my once sexually provocative and fiercely confident self end up with a fine layer of the rested remnants of human skin and other waste products gathering on my frayed nylon stitching? How did I get separated from my twin sister? Who would even decide that a used single suspender would be anything someone would want to buy? While I can't answer that question as still I sit, I can tell you the tale of how I came to be where I am. I was made as so many fast fashion pieces of lingerie are made, in a factory overseas. Is it overseas if that's where you're from or is it relative to where you are? If you're imagining a large landmass country near Japan and Russia, then you're thinking about the right spot. I was shipped out to the UK with my sister. Oh how I miss her. We spent our lives wrapped in plastic initially, with cardboard bondage. Our purpose was titillation and flirtation, to drive the hearts and loins of those whose eyes feasted on us into a frenzy. I remember the day we were taken from our retail nightmare prison and released to our new owner. A short and stout girl named Martina who had a date with a guy on Tinder called Gregory or Geoff. I cannot remember his name anymore. There have been so many men. So many women. So many times I've been hoisted up and peeled down legs in all positions. Akimbo, the dog, the wheelbarrow and the cowgirl were all overused favourites of the various owners. How did we come to just be me? There was a girl. Young and full of zest. Let's call her Sally. She was working as a stripper in a very exclusive club on the seedy side of town. You know the sort. The city doesn't matter. Anyway, she was working the bar and booths. A gentleman got a little handsy with me and my sis. He wouldn't take no for an answer. Entitled and ugly with a swollen gout-ridden limp and breath like damp pub carpets. We didn't even get a chance to say goodbye because once the security had beat up the top cut feely gentleman, sis, my dear Marie, was gone. When we were separated it felt like my very heart had been ripped in two. The last I saw was her lying lifeless on the club floor as Sally headed out into the night with me clinging to her right leg and waist with all my might. I still can't tell how much of the moisture gathering on me was tears, sweat or rain. Eventually I was discarded. Accidentally thrown into a bag of worn (and washed) underwear. * Thanks for reading! Author's Notes: So the inspiration for this story came from a chat between myself and Cristal S. in the comments section of her recent runner-up story Simply a Misunderstanding.
By Paul Stewart6 months ago in Fiction
