Microfiction
WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DIE
Despite our mostly science-grounded views on death these days, it seems many of us believe in life after it. In 2014, UK citizens were polled by the Telegraph, and just under 60 percent of respondents said they believe some part of us lives on. In the U.S., still a very Christian nation, Research in 2015 asked people what happened after you die. The survey found that 72 percent of Americans believed you go to heaven, which was described as a place “where people who have led good lives are eternally rewarded.” 54 percent of U.S. adults replied that they believed in hell, which was described as a place “where people who have led bad lives and die without being sorry are eternally punished.”
By Emmy Kevin2 years ago in Fiction
The Diary of a Dark Horse. Content Warning.
PRELUDE My name is Alan Simmons. Al for short. I am a twenty-nine-year-old Black man that basically lost hope. Hope for a life that isn’t riddled with so much strain and strife. Hope for a future that isn’t to be lived with a lost soul and brought to a forlorn death. Hope for a future that is filled with a love I could harness and devote my all to. And without the tight fist hold for even the concept of hope, yesterday, I tried to end my life. A grim and melancholic way to introduce myself, yes? That’s the point. For a very long period of my life, I spent many days and nights in utter darkness, wondering when I’d see “the light” or once again appreciating the literal sunlight that shines upon us every day. I never wanted to live the life of a martyr, nor do I need to find the excuse to add the cliche narrative of my people, and other individuals that have many similar struggles as I have had. For there will always be people that come to terms and strive past the strain and strife. Those who have had even less of a baseline of hope and wrote their own miracle stories. So, it dawned on me today. The ugly, yet beautiful truth of my anecdotal reality has brought me to record the happenings of my life, for at least 99 days. I don’t know why the number 99. But I’ve decided at this moment, which may be of great impulse, that I have nothing to lose by giving a glimpse of Alan; what’s left of him and possibly what he could achieve. With my failures, including the woes I may write out and give way to the release of my own martyrdom, I decide that if I must live then I should give into the mysteries of life, fueling all possibilities of auspiciousness, and accepting the outcomes as they are. With a call back to hope, I will unto I am unable, the reins of my own noble steed. So that I ride into the horizon that hope appears to be. I, Alan Simmons, am a Dark Horse.
By Alan Simmons2 years ago in Fiction
The Artist
Art world traditionalists never see my work. Oh, they may look at it while driving by in a car or bus, but they never take the time to appreciate my creations. The city fathers consider my art graffiti, a blight on every neighborhood I choose for my paintings. They don’t have a clue as to the time I spend sketching out rough drafts, and measuring the wall so that my creation fits with the exact proportions of the surroundings. I’m not some gang tagger marking my turf with scrawled initials. I’m a genuine artist. Banksy may be more famous than me, but that’s temporary.
By Mark Gagnon2 years ago in Fiction
Something Crawled up Your--
He didn't know what got into him. That's not just a turn of phrase; something actually got into him. It started innocently. He overindulged, had too much greasy food. He farted. It stank. Natalie, cosied up next to him on the sofa, retched, and flapped her hand theatrically in front of her face. "Oh my god, Cole," she said rushing to open the window, "Did something crawl up your arse and die?" Her eyes watered, but she laughed. She had no idea.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Better food policies needed to combat obesity and overnutrition in South Asia, says study
Better food labeling, healthier school meals, and taxes on unhealthy foods are needed to address the rising health impacts of "overnutrition" in Bangladesh, India, Pakistan and Sri Lanka, according to a new comparative analysis led by Imperial College Business School and published in The Lancet Regional Health - Southeast Asia.
By bakhtawar khan2 years ago in Fiction
I Love My Job
The bond we share is like brothers. Closer, really. Stuff you see in this job... it can fuck you up. If you're not careful. When you see that shit... when you experience it together. Do it... together... it does something. Trauma bonding or some shit, I don't know.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Echoes of a Lost Age
The sun beat down on the dusty road, a relentless orb of heat. A lone figure trudged along, a wanderer wrapped in a worn cloak. The wanderer's name was Kael, a nomad with no home but the open sky. Kael sought knowledge, a quest that had led him to far-off lands and forgotten lore.
By Kristina Zill2 years ago in Fiction
