Humor
I wanted to study but ....
It was 7 pm, the room was dark and nothing was visible but a few books resting on the bookshelf. I just woke up anxiously as I had an exam the very next day. It was the first time I didn’t prepare well for the exam. I was in stress as I wanted to maintain my top position in school. In a hurry, I just had a few snacks and rushed out to my friend’s place. Two guards outside the villa asked me what I wanted. I told who I was and they called for my friend.
By Azhar Malik4 years ago in Fiction
Elevator Shenanigans
It’s not news that when one is late for work, things don’t seem to move as fast as one wants them to: the car can’t race through traffic in a few minutes, the barista at Starbucks still takes 67 seconds to make the coffee, and the elevator moves as slow as a 150-year-old tortoise, except when it doesn’t. This morning, two men who work at the same company walk into work at the same time. George shows his work badge and insults the security guard. This numb-skull is an associate lawyer at Lawrence and Cole, the law firm. Right after him walks in a younger man in the IT department who is also good at his job. Jeffrey greets the guard, asks how he is, and hands him a coffee before going towards the elevator. Both George and Jeffrey are late. They press for the same floor. The elevator whirs as it lurches before it rises. Then. Bang! Zzzzt. It stops.
By Eliza West4 years ago in Fiction
The tale of Wenceslas
The Tale of Wenceslas “Piss off Gingersnap!” shouted Wenceslas in blind rage. Trudging over to the handcrafted mahogany desk, Wenceslas flipped it over on its side. A horse-ish reindeer cry of defiance sounded out of Gingersnap. Undeterred, Wenceslas ran over to the corner and kicked a hole in the gingerbread house. On a rampage of aggravation, Gingersnap grunted in defiance! But to no avail. Wenceslas ran around the house punching and kicking what he could. In the midst of his stampede he was rudely and pathetically halted when his little clenched fist met the hard metal of the refrigerator. “Son of a…” Wenceslas stopped when he heard the ominous screeching of the cabin door. A terror of fear lay hold of him as he sank down to the floor.
By Bathrobe Studios4 years ago in Fiction
Operation Frozen Yoghurt
The task was simple: go to the server room, steal company secrets, check them, and give them to my MI6 brother outside. But was it easy? I had meant for my cover to make me likeable, and it did. Everyone in the office liked me enough that I couldn’t pass anyone without receiving a hello and small talk. Brilliant. Imagine needing to smile all day and pretend you have a life. Abysmal.
By Eliza West4 years ago in Fiction
Game of Gnomes: The Necrognomicon
Bang… and other such alarming onomatopoeias had been berating Gassy Bedchambers’ ears for several hours now. The unfortunately-named, plump little gnome was lucky enough to have a sturdy shelter from the increasingly persistent storm outside. At least, that’s what he would lead any lost, weary travellers to believe. Not that he’d seen any. He’d in fact chosen this place for its dangerous isolation.
By M. J. Northwood4 years ago in Fiction
Yoga Bro versus the dragons
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. But, then again, the valley didn’t always have you as their Yoga Bro. You set up shop in the valley yesterday, marketing your wares as “Hardcore Yoga”. You had just completed intensive teacher training with Swami Hardcore. You knew him as the Swami who ditched his masters in order to divine the mysteries of why his hernia flared up only at times when there was trash to be picked up off his floor. You had been coerced into learning the skills required to appraise and acknowledge the holy hernia, or at least to realize it was holier than your abdominal muscles would ever be, even with all the trash you had picked up off Swami Hardcore’s floor.
By Anton Crane4 years ago in Fiction
Assets
Jenny knew that art was dead. Her paintings of high praise were reduced to speculative assets, which were used in money laundering schemes and investment portfolios, and nobody actually cared about the paintings themselves. It was her name that turned $200 worth of art supplies into a $20,000 painting, not the craft and care that went into its creation.
By Marty Shambles4 years ago in Fiction
Carlos
She saw him approaching her a good ten minutes before they actually met. Out on those long and lonely stretches of the Meseta, that is not unusual. You can see all around for miles and so are forewarned of any other peregrinos in the vicinity. And that day there were not many. The walking season was drawing to a close; it had already rained twice that week.
By Matt Pointon4 years ago in Fiction
The Efficiency Of Harry Or The Perplexing Incident Involving Denny And The Weird Shit In The Bottle
Ok, now picture a hip, garage-ish soundtrack. Very ‘70’s English. The scene is a still-frame, mid-action of a man hopping a fence. His body, hoisted by one hand into the crunching position, has cleared the top, fairly visible and taking up most of the frame. He’s wearing tattered, red Chuck Taylor’s, jeans that stand the chance of having not been washed in months and a ragged old olive green T-shirt with a pocket over the left breast and yellowed bleach spots across the belly.
By Ken Withrow4 years ago in Fiction
Cooking With Ted In The Apocalypse
I overslept. The mattress and clean sheets, heavy blanket, and security of this society lulled me into a slumber I was loath to wake from, though my eyes did open to a high sun sharing its light through the windows, cut in long beams by blinds. I laid, unburdened by an agenda of survival but swamped in luxurious bed dressings, and my body fought against rising and shedding the cloths, and with it, the illusion of safety.
By Alexander Ray Williams4 years ago in Fiction
