Kati Bumbera
Bio
My day job is narrative design and writing for video games. I'm here to share the stuff I write for fun. @KatiBumbera
Stories (4)
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House-Sitting Instructions for the Garden of Eden
If you find a snake in the garden, don’t kill it, don’t talk to it, especially not on a Sunday. You may post a picture of it in the local facebook group, where the village elders will identify the exact species, and, most likely, Monsieur Georges will share pictures of the snakes he had found in his garden, and then Madame Céline will accuse him of subsequently throwing them into her garden, at which point the discussion will become heated, referencing ancient feuds involving sacrifices and goats, and you will probably want to go to the beach.
By Kati Bumbera4 years ago in Fiction
In Cold Blood
There's pandemonium in the fridge when we learn that Nina and her boyfriend are dead. Everyone's trying to speak at once, there’s yelling and wobbling and jiggling coming from every container and compartment. “We have a killer among us!”, crows the leftover Chicken Casserole. The Tomatoes roll about, red-faced, in the bottom bin. “Mon Dieu!”, exclaims Camembert. Only Yoghurt stays silent, but then he usually just meditates or writes haikus in his corner. Orange Juice, though, can barely contain herself in her carton. She feels vindicated because she was the first to raise the alarm.
By Kati Bumbera5 years ago in Fiction
The Dream Farmer
In my young days we had a dozen sky mules, their horns polished bright like new moons. It was my job to spread the sheaves out on the barn floor, then Pa would have the mules trample the dream-grains loose from the chaff. Twenty bushels we'd winnow and grind to a thin dust each day. Then we'd throw it to the wind at dusk, so that the earthfolk could dream.
By Kati Bumbera5 years ago in Fiction
The Witch of the Broken Computer
Shifty was a pink woollen rabbit whose creator crocheted him under dubious artistic inspiration. He was intended to be cute, but his limbs turned out too short, and his wiry blue whiskers conveyed no capacity for fun. His ears twisted this way and that like a long joke with a disappointing punchline. His beady eyes gave him a cold, sociopathic stare, like he had no soul.
By Kati Bumbera5 years ago in Futurism
