Short Story
The Outbreak. Top Story - August 2024.
Another day of the week. Woke up at seven, thwacked the alarm clock to make that beastly gadget shut up. As usual, my body asleep one second and fully aware the next. The bedroom, the shower, the clothes chosen yesterday and carefully arranged on the sofa for me to put on today. The same as every day. And yet… My whole body felt out of sorts. Each step seemed more laboured than usual, and a tenseness around my temples was a sure symptom of a headache about to develop later on.
By K.D. Popiel2 years ago in Fiction
the last bus
He was very clearly sat on the bench there, under the bus shelter, and yet the No. 23 just rattled by as though Tommy weren't real. The street had faded to several shades of gray, movement and sound were muted at the darkened hour. These facts probably lent to why the bus operator blew past the stop. There could be a hundred reasons why the bus left Tommy alone on that bench that weren't at all related to Tommy. The man at the wheel could be exhausted, stressed, hungover, or worse, drunk.
By Leah Gabriel2 years ago in Fiction
The Last Message
When she was a small lass, she used to dream about the stars. How they glowed for the dark and were chased away by the sun of the day. How she wondered what could be seen from space. How small was the world around her that they would look comparable to beetles from way up there.
By Dwayne Chapman2 years ago in Fiction
Warmth of the Snow
"Pretty!", Jonathon remarked as he turned from Sandy to look out onto snow-covered grounds of the hotel. They had been forced to stay together after all transport had been cancelled out of town. "Pretty vacant..." Sandy responded, full of sarcasm.
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
Dumb Heroics
It's 7:55am and I'm definitely late for work. I don't know how time has gotten so away from me. Every morning feels like this. I open my eyes and look up at the same ceiling. I get up, follow the same routine. Wear similar clothes and grab the same bland breakfast.
By Zo Grimmwood2 years ago in Fiction
The Sales Champion
I had no specific reason to visit the exhibition, but then again, fortunately, I seldom need one. This time I would use the fact that it would be raining cats and dogs soon, and I wanted to stay dry today as my excuse. There was really nothing there for me as a writer since it seemed to be some kind of building materials expo. But then again, maybe I could use some of the latest new materials in one of my stories. That's one of the advantages of being a writer: we can show up anywhere, anytime, just by saying "There could be a story in this." And the crazy thing is that most people tend to believe it, often trying to make us feel more than welcome! Even if their stuff is utterly boring, it seems they need or at least want to believe someone else might be interested in it. I once was even heartily welcomed at a bookkeepers' reunion class. My excuse for that one was the bitter cold, as I remember correctly.
By Bea Van Der Hoek2 years ago in Fiction
Echo
One day at a local concert, I saw a man with big hair singing with 3-4 others, while a few people listened to their song. The man seemed a bit crazy, with his big hair, beard, mustache, and large frame. It looked like he hadn’t showered in at least a month.
By Md. Ismiel Hossen Abir2 years ago in Fiction
