Humor

A Losing Hand
“It’s a bomb,” Tony said. Rodney rolled his eyes. “It’s not a bomb.” Tony picked up the package from the dining table and juggled it in his arms, feeling the weight shift inside.
By Jason Barlow4 years ago in Fiction
In the front garden
The winding metallic shutters sprung open with elasticated force, clanging loudly against the roof of the lorry, exposing the top half of it’s storage space to the outside world. The clanging sound worked like a gunshot, with birds as the bullets, sending them scattering outwards from the overhead trees. Majestic mammals of the sky disbanding in pure natural rejection to the unwelcome noise. The winged wonders all squawked at the top of their lungs until their noise faded. Whether their squawking carried on after the distance numbed it, I don’t know, because quite frankly the birds are not important, so let's just shush about the birds.
By Rory 4 years ago in Fiction
The Box
The soldiers working in the Conn Barracks post office had it easy compared to their battles sweating it out in the field or in the motor pool. Yes, it was a lot of sorting, lifting, and careful handling of fragile packages and long awaited mail from home, with a lot of smoking and joking in the air conditioned offices. These pogues had it made, but you always wanted them on your side. After all, it could be your mail they were handling. Anything derogatory you had to say needed to be done a safe distance away and shared in confidence with others that would not blow your cover. Or else mail could go missing.
By cd ybarra4 years ago in Fiction
Of 2 Minds
Joe opened his postal box. His mother paid for the postal box because she thought the mail would get stolen in Joe's terrible neighborhood. After all, whenever she was there at Joe's intimate shack, she never saw any envelopes lying around. It was as if nobody wrote letters anymore, which is preposterous, so her conclusion was that there was a land pirate absconding with Joe's parcels. There wasn't. The volume of mail he received in the P.O. box was more or less the same as he had been getting. This time though, there was a brown paper package sitting diagonally in the upright space, and it appeared not to have been sent by his mother.
By Ron Kretschmer4 years ago in Fiction
Special Delivery: A Mystery Package Appeared
The morning started as usual. Karissa woke up with a long stretch and yawn, rolling her shoulders and rousing from slumber’s grip. Sunlight crept into her bedroom from behind her curtains, birds chirping outside and greeting the new day. Karissa appreciated this peaceful stretch in the morning. No matter what chaos appeared later in the day, this calm time was hers, and she wouldn’t trade it for anything. Heading to the bathroom to wash her face, she patted her white cat, Mitsuki, on the head in greeting. Mitsuki cracked a blue eye open with a slight “mew” before flicking her black-tipped ears, snuggling back to sleep. Mitsuki appreciated quiet, serene mornings, too; it was part of the reason the two meshed so well.
By Jessica C.4 years ago in Fiction
Infectious Smile
The green light was on. The people crossed the street, brushing shoulders and taking glances. On one side of the street, a traffic enforcer looked at the traffic light digital timer as it ran from sixty. And then he looked at the pedestrians. The digital timer flicked zero. The red light was on. The motorists suddenly beeped in deafening succession. The traffic enforcer’s eyes fell out. He gritted his newly brushed teeth. He raised up a whistle to his shaking lips and blew the air that came from his throat.
By M.G. Maderazo4 years ago in Fiction
What's in the Box
One would think I’d learned my lesson, but no, I still every now and then get the bug to clean out my closets. The problem, or perhaps the fun part, is I never know what I’m going to find. Totally felt like Forrest Gump there. Anyway, during the cleaning of the hall closet I find a package.
By Michelle McBride4 years ago in Fiction
Red Light/Green Light
“Ok,” Bethany said, climbing into the passenger seat and buckling her seatbelt. “What’s the first thing you do when you drive?”
By Tali Mullins4 years ago in Fiction
Your name is a silent space between stars
A lot of people say I tend to lie. I know I exaggerate a bit. That’s how I see it. I want you to believe me, because I’ve been through more than I want to talk about here. The last time I stood before a judge, she told me “Honesty is the path to stability and peace.” I keep thinking about that.
By Heath Hardin4 years ago in Fiction
The Bartholomew Roberts School of Wayward Pescatarian Sharks
In my thirty-plus years roaming the high seas as the most wanted pirate that ever walked the face of the earth, known back then as the rascal Black Bart, and who has sent more than my share of rotten scoundrels to the bottom of the sea to meet with Davy Jones, I can count on two fingers those poor souls who became a meal for our brethren of the sea, the sharks. Unlike their pesky counterparts who wander the earth on two legs devouring everything from cattle to pork to leaves to worms, the shark is much more choosy when it comes to putting something in its belly. I guess that's why they are referred to as pescatarians.
By Joey Lowe4 years ago in Fiction
My Secret Garden
Great Day in the Morning Like a silky parachute caught in the morning breeze; waving it’s rainbow flag of colors that radiated from it’s center like spider’s legs, the spider’s web seemed to float in midair. It hung between the branches of the Verbena. Jaye starred at the kaleidoscope of color. She appreciated this garden that supplied her with peace, beauty, sunshine and fresh air. She sat each morning on her lounge chair in the gazebo, taking in the wonders of nature that surrounded her here. “Hey, beautiful,” called a voice. Stirred from her reverie she looked up to see Jean; coffee cup in hand, walking up the path to the gazebo. Her long tanned legs, peeking out from beneath her pink terry cloth robe as she walked. “Hey beautiful yourself,” replied Jaye. Jean bent over and kissed her on her lips. Jaye took the opportunity to peek down the front of Jean’s robe at her milky white breasts. “Hey,” said Jean when she realized what Jaye was doing. “You lesbian,” she added. “Fraid so,” said Jaye with a smile. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” responded Jean bending again to give Jaye yet another kiss and peek down her robe.
By Jacqueline Gabrielle4 years ago in Fiction
The Package
He made overly certain that the contents of the package remained snuggled safely, pressed between the cotton candy packing peanuts. When he was satisfied that no damage could possibly befall the contents, he closed the brown package and sealed it tightly with bronzed packing tape. As a gesture, he shook the box once, twice, listening, ear pressed against cardboard, for any sign, however miniscule, that the contents were not firmly secured. Should any mishap befall the package, and should the contents within find peril, then his future was no more certain than the weather. Or so he was told.
By Evan Schwab4 years ago in Fiction