Humor
The reunion
"If walls could talk, what in the world would they say?" Andrea sighed, gazing at the scorching flames growing in the wood-burning stove, and could not help but wonder what the walls would say after witnessing that unusual reunion. She wasn't particularly fond of get-togethers, and the scent of gift wrapping paper almost always made her feel nauseous and frail. Anastasia, looking like a snowball, lay in the cat tree curled up into a crescent with its head tucked in toward its chest and its lavish and furry tail swooping around its little body, looking cozy as can be. "Maybe they'd laugh at our giant act!" she exclaimed cynically but then slowly dozed off on the mahogany desk until she fell into a deep, dark sleep. After what felt like a lifetime, Andrea finally wakes up and starts scanning the room. She can't quite pinpoint what feels different about it this time, but something is off. The room looks darker and shadowy, and the scent of wrapping paper is more nuanced than usual. She puts her glasses back on and notices Anastasia is gone.
By Jetona Andoni3 years ago in Fiction
Of God and Humans, 2
God woke up, sat on the edge of his bed for a second, pushed his feet into soft fluffy sleepers and dragged them into the adjacent room, wrapping himself into a plush bathrobe on the way. He so wished he could just sleep a little more, but this was a part of his daily routine, and he knew what skipping it could mean for his charges: A disaster. As it happened many times before.
By Lana V Lynx3 years ago in Fiction
How to Build a Firm Foundation
If walls could talk…we would probably all lose our minds. No, not you. Not at all, I think. You seem to be quite sane, although I wonder why you exert yourself this way. All that walking with the others on this strip of earth that must be hundreds of meters long. It makes sense that you would need a break, and then stretch and walk over to somewhere a little more secluded. At least you did not run away because you thought you were hallucinating. You are absolutely all right. I can talk. And I have a story to tell.
By Kendall Defoe 3 years ago in Fiction
If Walls Could Talk
If walls could talk, I was born in 1993 in a dark hallway that was filled with arguments and anger. During this time, I had my stomach ripped out twice by the husband during a fit of rage. They had me filled back up with spackle, but I haven’t felt whole since. It wasn’t a big home during this time it felt even smaller.
By Chris Romano3 years ago in Fiction
If coffeeshop walls could talk...
If walls could talk, I would say, “stop painting me with your snot, little boy!” Then tell your dog to “stop peeing on me; I’m not a hydrant.” Next, I’ll watch an employee spray bleach and Windex on me to clean me up. The employee’s coffee-stained rag smeared the bleach and Windex around and got some brown stains. That better be coffee he’s spreading around on me. I’ll smell like a wet dog for a while. Thanks, kid.
By Ivory Maxwell3 years ago in Fiction
Let Us Tell You About Our People
If walls could talk, they say. We do. Made out of grass, sticks and cow dung, we are. We fear nothing but the rain, yes, the rain. When it falls dimly she's our friend, but when it pours angrily with those thick drops of life, sometimes we break and sometimes we die.
By Paula Romeu 3 years ago in Fiction
The Voice off the Wall
"If walls could talk..." The youngest one said quietly, touching the weathered stones of the old wall. There was no reaction from the others, as if they’d never heard him. He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed on it, studying the stonework.
By Peter Maznicki3 years ago in Fiction
Edward the prince | love at love at first sight a witch's daughter,
Once upon a time, in a far-off land, there was a kind and noble prince named Edward. One day, as he was riding through a small village, he caught sight of a beautiful girl with long, dark hair and sparkling eyes. He was immediately smitten, but he soon found out that she was the daughter of a powerful witch who lived in the woods outside of the village.
By Emmanuel Andrew3 years ago in Fiction
The Talking Twin Towers
My name is KLCC Twin Towers, and I have been standing tall in the heart of Kuala Lumpur for over two decades. I have seen the ebb and flow of the city's life, and the events that have unfolded in front of me. But it is the secrets I have kept, the whispered conversations and clandestine deals that have truly made me unique.
By Mary Robbinson3 years ago in Fiction
Tales of a Scorched Coffee Pot
For some reason you simply cannot disabuse most upper managers of the notion that they know the finer points of your job better than you do, despite their having never done it before. This even with the obvious, glaring fact that they plainly don’t understand what you’re talking about most of the time, when you begin speaking about those finer points of your job. A notion also underscored when drilling down into the reason that gossips and other assorted complainers hold such sway over these types — it’s because the bosses have no idea what’s going on. They cling to this informational pipeline as one would a life raft. It’s enough to make most rational people say, or at least wish to say, do you believe that I do my job very well? Okay, then, leave me alone and let me do it as I see fit. Otherwise, let’s cut to the chase and get this over with. Just go ahead and replace me.
By Jason McGathey3 years ago in Fiction
