Short Story
Cold Feet and Close Calls. AI-Generated.
It was just me in the office that winter, working for the Parks and Recreation Department. My supervisor, Carl, was new—just transferred from somewhere down south, and he was not a fan of the cold. Every morning, he’d come in wrapped in three scarves, a giant puffer jacket, and at least two pairs of gloves.
By Bhaskar Das2 years ago in Fiction
The Great Peacock Chase. AI-Generated.
It was just me in the office that summer, working for the town’s Animal Control in Brookline. The head officer, who I’ll call Mike, was new. Mike had just left his job as a zookeeper, and you could tell he was a little out of place here. He’d look around at the quiet office, shifting his weight and staring at the clock.
By Bhaskar Das2 years ago in Fiction
Ghosts of the Southern Swamps
Low sun crept over the Louisiana straight, to paint the sky with tones of blood orange and faint violet. Clara threaded her way through infinitesimal streams, examining this minute pirogue, the wooden boat squeaking under her weight.
By Bishnu Kumar 2 years ago in Fiction
Silent is the Night. Top Story - November 2024. Content Warning.
This is a tough time of year. It's been so long since his last feeding, and worse, he still has several weeks to wait. They stretch in front of him, yawning wide and black with needle-teeth of hunger pains. The weather turns, and the cold deepens. The night dark pulls in, squeezing the daylight hours like a fat man pulling in his belly to edge through a tight space. These things only sharpen his appetite even further. The coloured lights strung up all over town are switched on. Their cheery twinkle is reflected in every pair of eyes, both innocent and cynical. Another reminder of how close (and how far!) he is from satisfying his hunger. He glares at them. His bowlful of jelly grumbles. Ahh the little tots, they are so soft and warm in his lap! The scent of them rises up from those adorable heads, with their curls, their mops, their pigtails and braids. He breathes it in and savours it, the buttery sweet smell of them. His hands twitch, how badly he wants to crush and twist, and slurp and chew and crunch... Their screams, just as delicious, a fine accompaniment to wash it all down.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Dutch's Snowy Christmas Eve Adventure
On a silent Christmas Eve, with the snow falling soft and pale, a midnight black cat by the name of Dutch awoke from his slumber. Stretching his long, sleek body, he made his way to the exterior door and exited through the small door that was just for him.
By Mother Combs2 years ago in Fiction
