Satire

The Seven Blunders of the World
Note: Some of you might want to reference the original list before you read my take on it: Click here. -K.D. 1. The Great Pyramid of Pizza Boxes
By Kendall Defoe about a year ago in Fiction
The Light in the Attic
It arrived on a Tuesday, folded once and slipped into an envelope with no return address. The paper was yellowed and smelled faintly of lavender and dust. My name was written in perfect cursive on the front: Eleanor Wren. No title. No address. Just my name, as if the sender knew I'd find it regardless of where it landed.
By Sen Sababout a year ago in Fiction
The Kingdom Beneath the Sand
The Zeharan Desert was a place of silence and secrets. No birds flew over its heart, no wind dared to howl. Locals called it Al-Ruhm al-Da’imah—the Eternal Grave. They told stories of a buried kingdom swallowed by the sands in a single night, cursed by the gods for reaching too far. Most dismissed it as a bedtime story, something to scare children. But Aria Dareth believed otherwise. She had spent ten years searching for the truth behind the legend of Thar’Kesh. Her late father, a renowned historian, had disappeared chasing the same myth. The rest of the academic world had laughed her out of conferences and journals. Still, she searched. When she finally acquired the serpent-skin map—a relic pulled from the ashes of a private collection fire—it marked a turning point. It depicted the Hollow Dune, a stretch of desert where no storm had passed in hundreds of years. Now, standing at the edge of that dune, Aria’s heart pounded. With her were Kael, her protective younger brother, and Rafiq, a desert guide whose silence was as deep as the sand itself. “We shouldn’t be here,” Kael muttered for the tenth time, squinting at the shimmering horizon. “This place feels… wrong.” “All great discoveries feel wrong before they feel right,” Aria replied, brushing sweat from her brow. “Help me set up the scanners.” By nightfall, the sensors pinged—an underground anomaly, vast and hollow. The next day, they began to dig. It took them five days to reach stone. A staircase spiraled down into blackness, its steps untouched by time. Torchlight flickered off walls etched with obsidian inlays and ancient glyphs. Aria’s hands trembled as she ran her fingers over one of the murals: it depicted a city of towers and floating bridges, of men in star-marked robes holding orbs of light. Another showed a massive serpent coiled around the sun, its fangs sunk deep into the earth. A third mural chilled her: a circle, sealed with a blood-red sigil, cracked down the middle. Figures around it burned, turned to dust. “Looks like they locked something in,” Kael said. “Or tried to,” Aria whispered. They pressed deeper into the ruins, entering vast chambers lit by crystals still faintly glowing. Gold dust coated every surface. Statues lined the halls—warriors with faceless helmets, swords taller than a man. At the heart of the city stood a temple shaped like a crown, its spires reaching toward the cavern roof like pleading hands. Then Rafiq vanished. They had just entered the temple when he stepped away to scout a side passage and never returned. Kael wanted to go back. Aria refused. “Not now. We’re too close.” Inside the temple, atop a raised dais, they found it: the seal. A disc of silver and onyx embedded in the floor, etched with the same blood-red sigil from the mural. Her map had shown it. Her father’s journal had described it. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. “This is it,” she breathed. “The source.” Kael grabbed her arm. “You saw the mural, Aria. Whatever this is, they didn’t want it opened.” Aria’s eyes locked on the seal. “And yet they left a key.” She pulled her sleeve back to reveal a birthmark on her wrist—a faint shape that mirrored the sigil. Her father had always said it was a sign, proof they were connected to Thar’Kesh. She had never believed him. Until now. The moment her skin touched the seal, the temple rumbled. Dust cascaded from the ceiling. A low hum filled the air, rising like a thousand voices whispering all at once. Then, silence. The seal split open. From the chasm below rose a golden throne. Upon it sat a figure draped in decayed robes, its face hidden by a bronze mask. The King of Thar’Kesh. The air grew thick. The statues in the hall shuddered—and moved. Stone feet echoed. Eyes of onyx flared to life. Kael drew his knife. “Aria…” But the king raised a hand—and they stopped. “You carry the mark,” the king said, voice like rust on stone. “The blood of the Starbound flows in you still.” Aria took a breath. “What are the Starbound?” “The guardians of Thar’Kesh. We were chosen by the stars to wield the gifts of heaven. But our pride led to ruin. We sealed ourselves beneath the sand to wait—for a descendant with the power to undo what was done.” “Why me?” “Because you were always meant to return.” The ground shook again. The city stirred. Outside, sand began to sink, revealing the tops of towers. The kingdom was rising. “You may seal us again,” the king said. “Or restore Thar’Kesh to the world. But know this—awakening us awakens all that sleeps with us.” Kael looked at her, pleading. “We should go. Please.” But Aria stepped forward. “No,” she said. “The world has forgotten wonders. It needs them again.” She touched the throne. And beneath the sands of Zehara, Thar’Kesh breathed again.
By M.SUDAIS about a year ago in Fiction
After The Stars Fell By Hridya Sharma
I often wondered what love is. Is it truly the warm, fuzzy emotions that ooze out of true mirth of care and adore, or is it a product of prevalent capitalism that exists within our world? That makes it easy for the consumeristic and hyperagile construct to sell products to the humans as a marketing tactic, to slip in through the psyche of innocent minds, to create a buzz, to find their weaklings and exploit them for company profits and expansions. I still find myself wondering what love is, pondering over that thought. I searched on Chatgpt What do you think love is, What does love truly mean? Is there any premise in the age-old tales of true eternal love, or are they just some flipping pages of history that are known to mankind through the legends of time, through the sands of ripple effects that last through time? Does happily ever after truly exist? I scrambledly typed and asked the language model, aka AI genius.
By Hridya Sharmaabout a year ago in Fiction
Beneath the Tree That Watched Us
The Tree on the Hill On the edge of a quiet village named Kalwara, stood a tall, old peepal tree, alone on a small hill. Its branches were wide, its bark dark and cracked like an ancient face, and its leaves sang with the wind. The villagers called it “The Watching Tree”, because no matter where you stood on the hill, it felt like the tree was looking right at you.
By Muhammad Hayatabout a year ago in Fiction
A Cafeteria
Now my school did not have an outside cafeteria, but we did have an area if we wanted to go out just for some fresh air. School cafeterias places of so-called mystery meat and other culinary somewhat disasters in the name of healthy, nutritious eating. No wonder I was mainly a brown-bag person.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
Lockers
Open me, close me what a life. A students' life for a year at a time. Some are slops and some are not. At times they write on me and fill me with books, coats and what-not. But, hey what the gossip I hear it seems to stay the same all the years.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
Two Peas In a Dumpster Fire
Dan and Marnie were conceived for one another. A mismatch made in hell. Like two peas in a dumpster fire, their love was blind, deaf, and driving without a license. He was obnoxious and took her to a motel for an hour of anticlimactic, earth grazing sex. She'd complain, but he was rich.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Fiction
Footprints in the Wrong Direction
A Trail That Shouldn’t Exist In the cold, mountain village of Ravenshade, 15-year-old Noah Elwin had always followed the rules. He never wandered into the forest, never stayed out after dark, and never questioned why the old northern path was forbidden.
By Muhammad Hayatabout a year ago in Fiction
Meatloaf and Other Terrors. AI-Generated.
It started, as most suburban horrors do, with dinner. The Hamiltons were a perfectly average family living in a two-story house with beige siding, beige carpeting, and beige dreams. Frank, the father, was an accountant with the charisma of drywall. Marjorie, the mother, taught piano but mostly just used the keyboard as a place to hide her wine glass during lessons. Lily, a sarcastic 16-year-old who wears too much eyeliner, and Timmy, an eerie ten-year-old who stopped blinking a month ago, were their two children. Tuesday was meatloaf night. It always had been. Marjorie was a proponent of "structure." Some mothers gave hugs. Marjorie gave routines and passive aggressive glances.
By Entakababout a year ago in Fiction
REVOLUTION OF HEARTS
In the heart of a small, rural village in Nepal, under the shadow of the monarchy’s harsh rules, two souls are bound by love but torn apart by the walls of society. It is the 1950s, and the caste system rules every aspect of life. The idea of love beyond one’s birth is still a distant dream.
By Roshan Chauhanabout a year ago in Fiction
Beneath the Jasmine Sky
In the quiet town of Gulshanpur, where the air smelled of jasmine and evening tea, lived Mr. Shahdal — a young teacher with gentle eyes, a poetic soul, and a smile that carried the warmth of a summer afternoon. After years of studying literature abroad, he had returned to his hometown not just with knowledge, but with a heart full of dreams and memories that hadn’t faded.
By Shah saab ITabout a year ago in Fiction