Microfiction
The Old Magician Who Can't Do Magic
There was a road with substandard thickness, strength, and smoothness. The only thing "worth praising" about it was the potholes on the road. These potholes would fill up and become flat as soon as you filled them, but they would reappear as soon as you walked away. When a little rain or sewage flowed into the potholes, they would remain unchanged despite the scorching sun and the wheels of vehicles, not diminishing for ten days or half a month. The local residents complained bitterly, but no one took action.
By John Bruceabout a year ago in Fiction
The Timeline of the Antichrist: A Shadowy Figure
The Antichrist, a figure shrouded in religious and mythical prophecies, remains a subject of fascination and fear. In Christian eschatology, the Antichrist is often depicted as a powerful and deceptive individual who will arise during the end times, opposing and mimicking Christ.
By Kelly Munala Brookesabout a year ago in Fiction
An Old-fashioned Christmas
What is an old-fashioned Christmas? To me an old-fashioned Christmas is one that has a few family and friends come over decorate the house and the tree and maybe drink some eggnog or something stronger while eating cookies and candy. Doing this while a Christmas dinner is cooking in the oven of ham and scalloped potatoes and some sort of vegetable and for dessert there is pie, but still the cookies are the best. Settling down to open presents and maybe hearing the carolers coming down the street singing their hearts out for one and all a Merry Christmas, too.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
Jeff, I love you, but....
Jeff, I love you, but... for some reason I can only see you as a friend, who likes the same kind of women I do as well as the same good food and drink. You are a guy who is easy to talk to and enjoy the game with no matter the sport. When you and that special lady finally set the date, I will be your best man, and I know you will be mine. Jeff, I love you to the end of time for our friendship no matter the distance will not fail at all friend of mine.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
SpongeBob and the Adventures of FinCoon: Part 6
The group gathered around FinCoon, their minds buzzing with questions. After the defeat of the Guardian, they felt a strange sense of accomplishment but also unease. The chamber had grown eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of the shattered orb still pulsing gently on the pedestal.
By Kelly Munala Brookesabout a year ago in Fiction
SpongeBob and the Adventures of FinCoon: Part 5
With a deep breath, SpongeBob stepped into the portal, followed closely by Squidward, Sandy, Mr. Krabs, and Plankton. The world around them twisted, warping like a kaleidoscope of light and shadows. For a brief moment, everything felt weightless, and then, in an instant, the scene shifted.
By Kelly Munala Brookesabout a year ago in Fiction
I'm not crazy (my mother had me tested)
Labels like “paranoid”, and “delusional” are sticky. Especially to women. No matter what Sandy did to convince them that she wasn't crazy, they believed she was saying what she thought they wanted to hear. If she let her worry for her family show, or got frustrated or impatient, they took this as a symptom of instability. “Really,” she said, “I feel okay, now. I did feel a bit strange for a while. Maybe everything was getting to me. I swear, I’d never hurt my kids. Or Karl. I promise, my head feels much clearer now.” “That’s good!” This accompanied by a bland, encouraging smile. “That shows you’re in the right place, doesn’t it?” “But I can’t stay here!” Sandy would almost-wail. “I have to get my children back!” “Do you know where they are?” would be the oh-so-reasonable reply, with sharpness hidden just underneath. “Of course not,” Sandy did her best not to grit her teeth. I mustn't show anger or impatience... I must be a perfect picture of rationality... Sandy hated it here. Hated the white walls and bland pictures. The soulless rooms and grey tracksuits. The shuffling footsteps, tiny paper cups and hollow eyes. Hated feeling she didn’t belong; loathed worrying maybe she did. Hated feeling watched always, and feeling like everything she did was being written down to be used against her. Hated being phoneless. Some things she didn’t hate, much as she wouldn't admit it to herself. There was no pressure here. To create a perfect holiday with magical memories for all, and turn it into compelling, monetised content. There were hardly any decorations, even, and none in her own room. Best of all: no elf. There was a dismal looking Christmas tree in here. Sandy didn’t think about how much she didn’t look at it, and yet never had her back to it either. It was quite pleasant not to be ruled by a little red dot, the way a bull is led by his nose-ring. I could feel like this all the time... Sandy slid a yellow counter down a snake. Just never get another smartphone... Get an old Nokia and use it for calls... She looked up. "Your turn," she said to the pale, redhaired girl sitting across the table.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
SpongeBob and the Adventures of FinCoon: Part 4
The enormous Guardian loomed over the group, its body shimmering like a thousand shards of crystal, each one glowing with an eerie energy. Its eyes—now more like twin suns—burned with a fierce intensity, and its colossal form charged toward them.
By Kelly Munala Brookesabout a year ago in Fiction
