Satire
Reunion
It’s Marty Pruitt’s ten year high school reunion. Well, not exactly hers. It’s Kearny High’s Class of 2005 high school reunion and everyone, even people who graduated in 2004 and 2006, are coming. At least according to the social media breakdown. All the invites have been digitally accepted, even Marty’s.
By C.C. Moyer-Gardner3 years ago in Fiction
"The Winter Whisper of Change"
In the quiet embrace of winter, the snow painted the land white, creating a canvas of purity in which sounds were drowned in their own pristine beauty. The trees bowed under the weight of their soft mantle, silent witnesses of the transformation that each flake conferred on the landscape.
By Hendrik SancheZ3 years ago in Fiction
Doctor Arrested for Creating Human Statues
January 20, 2024 Boulder, CO On Friday Dr. Elijah Sudema, a geneticist at the University of Colorado Arnoult lab, made his first appearance at the Boulder County Court. Dr. Elijah Sudema was arrested on 14 counts of medical malpractice, reckless endangerment, first-degree assault, first-degree false imprisonment, theft of medical products, stolen property, 4 counts of embezzlement, and 2 counts of real estate fraud.
By Atomic Historian3 years ago in Fiction
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
Excursion into Amazement
Lights, camera, activity! While interplanetary voyages might overwhelm the big screen, Earth flaunts some stunning spots that shut even the most artistic scenes down. Prepare to have your "awesomeometer" detonate as we take you on a virtual excursion to 15 of the most mind boggling and stunning puts on our planet. From gravity-opposing sky passageways to dreamlike submerged cascades, these locations reclassify the limits of spectacular magnificence.
By Michael Oregbuyide3 years ago in Fiction
Gus the Bus
This story was inspired by Lucas Marcus, Facebook group: The Writer's Forum. Lucas posted the picture asking, "If this bus was a character in your book. What name would you her or him?" I saved the picture, because I liked it and wanted to see what I could do with it. Thus, Gus the Bus was born.
By Atomic Historian3 years ago in Fiction
Resolution
Two weeks since I started this challenge. L.C. Schäfer proposed to spend 2024 choosing to write a microfiction story every day, making 366 stories for every day of this lovely leap year and here we are at 14! That deserves a toast!. You can check her original story out here:
By Rachel Deeming3 years ago in Fiction
