Short Story
The Singer So Shy. Second Place in Just a Minute Challenge. Top Story - May 2024. Content Warning.
She stood near the cold fireplace, watching the second-hand tick down to the hour. In another minute, the clock's bird would emerge and warble the hour. She reached up and touched the clock, tracing the gentle slope of the farmhouse roof, then trailing down the lilac strewn side, to the white fence framed dooryard. She wished she was there, where the air would smell of lilacs rather than smoke.
By Judah LoVato3 years ago in Fiction
Adam's curious question
Once upon a time, in a cozy little house by the sunny meadow, lived a boy named Adam with the curliest red hair anyone had ever seen, and eyes as brown as the sweet chestnuts that fell in the autumn. Beside him was his loyal companion, Odie, a pit bull mix with a heart as big as his bark and a coat that glistened like fresh honey.
By Monika Zalewski3 years ago in Fiction
Psycopat Friend
Once upon a time, in a quiet little town nestled among the hills, there lived a guy named Mike. Now, Mike wasn't your typical guy-next-door type. Nope, he had a dark side, a real dark one. He was known around town as the "Psycopat" (yeah, with a 'P' instead of an 'S', because he was quirky like that).
By kiki hadiyanto3 years ago in Fiction
''60 seconds of the final ending''
The digital clock on the bomb blinked ominously, its red numbers counting down with merciless precision. 60 seconds left. The room was dimly lit, the air full of tension. Sweat beaded on Agent Ryan's forehead as he frantically scanned the intricate wiring before him. His hands moved with practiced precision, deftly maneuvering the delicate tools over the bomb's surface.
By Alli Habeeb3 years ago in Fiction
Concentrate on Your Life
Concentrate on Your Life A trainee monk once confided in his master, saying, "Master, I have to leave this Temple. I wish to depart from this location and enter a serene monastery." Why, the abbot monk inquired? What is this Temple's problem? Tell me what transpired. "You see, Master, everyone in this Temple is toxic to me," exclaimed the young monk. There are monks who are overly involved in politics, and there are other monks who are constantly criticizing me, you, and other monks.
By Abdul Qayyum3 years ago in Fiction
Just a Minute
My head lay against the headrest in all anticipation. The ride was about to start. The excitement of thrill ran through my veins. I have waited all summer to be here. The seat was, as usual, stiff. I place my head back from the long spiel from the employees, all from warnings to how one should sit on the ride. It feels like they take ten years just to finish all the safety warnings. All the warnings about the stuff left in the bin may go missing. All for the name of covering their liabilities if something happens. I followed, putting my head against the rest. It was highly stressful, and yet others did not do it all. I take a deep breath as the lights count down the blast. The ride was famous, and the line was long. It was a scorching day, but I did enjoy the wait for such a ride. Its speed was faster than every other coaster I have ridden. I wished to get closer to the front, but that line would have taken forever. It was at least running, considering it was supposed to rain today, but the sky has stayed clear. I just want to sit back and relax as my body is pushed uphill for over one hundred feet. The time is coming closer as the red light appears. All the waiting has come to this a minute, so late, and it will all be over.
By Sarah Danaher3 years ago in Fiction
A Minute Lost
I don’t remember the date. I do recall that it was the summer, whether or not it was June, July, or August; it doesn’t really matter. The year was 2003. It was hot. It was South Texas hot. It was San Antonio with no wind hot. For those reading this and wondering, well, how sweltering could it possibly get in San Antonio, Texas? A quick Google search placed the average temperatures of well over ninety degrees Fahrenheit, sometimes hitting triple digits, along with a hundred percent humidity. It's quite commonplace in South Texas. The takeaway from this beginning is that it wasn’t the best backdrop for what I was asked to do that day. I won’t get too much into the macro explanation or the overall arching motivation as to why I was asked to do this one thing, but I was invited to run an undisclosed distance with a group of others as a way to observe the state of my physical prowess at that current time to gauge whether or not I needed to improve or if I met a certain standard set by an organization. Now, at the time, I considered myself a decently athletic individual. A simple run around the block shouldn’t have been too difficult, so I blew it off. I chalked it up to a jog I didn’t need to prep for. I used to do these all the time. I did this all the time because I enjoyed running. If you talk to avid runners, some might mention a phenomenon known as the “runners high.” It is a place of euphoria that some runners experience when placed in a strenuous physical state for long periods of time. Nothing no longer mattered when I would slowly climb into the runner's high. It was just me, my breathing, my music, and my empty thoughts. It was myself versus distance. The lactic acid burn and occasional muscle pump were addicting.
By Anthony Diaz3 years ago in Fiction
The Man Who Turned Into a Monster
There was once a man who turned into a monster. It started as a good idea, and he convinced himself it was necessary for survival. He lived in paradise but didn’t see it that way. To him, the world was merciless and cruel to anyone not properly equipped and prepared.
By Victor Eaves3 years ago in Fiction
