I am not a writer.
I write just to stop talking to myself. It annoys people.
The wiring of the air conditioning was resonating inside John skull like a church organ. - “… you even listening to me”, his wife said. “I can’t believe you! Getting drunk like … like … a teenager. When did you even have time to drink?”.
By Dudu Didi5 months ago in Fiction
The eyes scanned ambitiously the perfect contrasting text on the screen. Above the 12 bullet points, the heading read mighty: "Welcome to your first steps in your journey to become the perfect employee. Step 2: Core values" and a small italic subheading: "Click on each Value to learn more".
By Dudu Didi6 months ago in Fiction
Such a mundane thing, a phone, it's just there all the time to help with everything: work, money, social, personal shit. Well, it's there until it isn’t and that's the first time you think of the actual object itself: the phone; your phone.
On the outside it didn’t look that different and the creaky brown door was still holding. After 20 years it didn’t really want to move and when it did it made a noise like a cat begging for food. The smell of old, undisturbed dust inundated any nostrils brave enough to enter the room and the lack of mold was surprising, but than again it didn’t really rain anymore in this part of the world.
By Dudu Didi6 months ago in Writers
