Short Story
Animal Farm — Chapter 2 (George Orwell)
After the powerful barn meeting where Old Major sows the seeds of revolution, the animals of Manor Farm find themselves transformed. Although Old Major dies peacefully in his sleep just three nights later, his ideas flash through their minds. The pigs, being the most intelligent of the animals, quickly take on the task of spreading his vision. Of these, three stand out: Napoleon, Snowball, and Squealer. Napoleon is a large, fierce-looking Berkshire boar with a reputation for getting his own way. Snowball is more lively, quick-witted, and inventive, while Squealer is a brilliant talker who can twist any argument to convince others.
By Echoes of Lifeabout a year ago in Fiction
Animal Farm (George Orwell) - Chapter- 1 (Novel)
The story begins at Manor Farm, owned by Mr. Jones, a carefree and often drunk farmer. One evening, Old Major, a highly respected 12-year-old middle-white boar, calls a meeting of all the animals in the large barn. Old Major has had a strange dream and wants to share it with everyone. News of the meeting spreads quickly through the farm, and the animals gather eagerly to hear what Old Major has to say.
By Echoes of Lifeabout a year ago in Fiction
The Great Pajama Heist: Or How I Accidentally a Whole Town in My Underwear
"The Great Pajama Heist: Or How I Accidentally a Whole Town in My Underwear" Chapter 1: The Man in the Polka-Dot PJs Barry Bumble thorn was a man of simple pleasures: stamp collecting, birdwatching, and his prized possession—378 pairs of pajamas. As Snoreville’s most enthusiastic librarian, he lived a quiet life… until the night he became a criminal mastermind. It started innocently. Barry had volunteered to organize the town’s first-ever Pajama Swap Meet at the community center. But when he accidentally knocked over a display of “donated” onesies, he panicked. In a sleep-deprived haze, Barry stuffed his arms into a kangaroo pouch onesie, tripped over a laundry basket, and emerged dressed as a rogue marsupial. The crowd cheered. Someone yelled, “Encore!” Barry fled, but not before grabbing a suspiciously large duffel bag labeled MAY CONTAIN NAP-related ITEMS .
By Wings of Time about a year ago in Fiction
"Roar and Howl"
Once upon a time, in a realm between daylight and dream, there lived two sibling spirits named Roar and Howl. Born of the same moonlit breath and the same sunlit sigh, they carved their way through the world with voices that could move mountains and stir oceans.
By Khurram Munir about a year ago in Fiction
Face mask
His face is coated in blood. His teeth, normally slightly yellow, look white against the background of viscera. His eyes have a mad sheen to them. Blue-grey, and huge behind those glasses. Scrawny hands reach for my throat. Fingers hooked like claws. Knuckles sharp. Nails blunt. Bitten and grimy as they are, I flinch away. The fact he wants to kill me is less of a concern, in this moment, than the fact he probably hasn't washed his hands since he last went to the toilet. His rage cranks up another notch, eyes flashing, mouth twisted in a snarl. I've offended him. My revulsion stamped on my face so clear even he couldn't miss it. * I jerk awake, tangled in sweaty sheets, panting like I've been running. Should I run? Where would I go? I can't face That Bitch if I moved back home. I'd never hear the end of it. She'd been so sure this guy was an axe murderer. If I told her everything I've seen, and all the stuff I've learned about him, she'd feel justified in her protective nagging. It's still quiet. No noises from his room. Not since I heard him being sick. That was over a week ago. The longer he maintains his silence, the more unnerved I feel. Did I go too far? It was funny at first. Hearing him through the wall. Gagging and retching. It's less funny now. A whole lot less. I'm jumping at shadows. Part of me wants him to come out of his room, and go back to the way things were. The rest of me wants this whole ugly and bizarre situation to come to a head. One way or another. All of me wants to sleep with a knife under my pillow, and a lock on the door.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
She Waits For the Key to Be Given. Content Warning.
There weren't many reasons to sleep anymore. Pure necessity, sure, but beyond that, it wasn't an enjoyable time. Cali didn't find sleep restful. Her little townhome didn't feel like safety anymore, but thanks to a mortgage, she was locked in. Her home was a series of half-done things; a half-eaten dinner that sat next to her spot on the couch. Her sink was full of half-washed dishes soaking the dried on mess. Half her bed was covered in half-folded laundry. Her phone was full of never-sent texts, half written and half-forgotten.
By Autumn Stewabout a year ago in Fiction
Just One Call. Runner-Up in Leave the Light On Challenge. Content Warning.
He never could sleep at night. Plagued by incessant thoughts, as if his brain went into overdrive the moment he laid his head on his pillow. He took to wandering the narrow lanes of Cambridge, until he found himself sitting on the steps of a small church, cigarette in one hand, orange pill bottle in the other. The bottle rattled as he played with it, trying to count how many pills were still inside, and then wondering how many he’d have to take to fall asleep. And that led to how many he’d have to take to sleep for good. The idea was curious, sticky. The idea started to grow on him. No having to answer questions about why he had such dark rings under his eyes, or what reason he had for being depressed or anxious. He had a good life. Not luxurious by any means, but good. And he could live with good. Or at least, he should be able to live with good.
By M. Fritz Wunderliabout a year ago in Fiction
