Microfiction
119 Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light
Do not go gentle into that good night — Dylan Thomas James Ferguson had done it all. He had completed all his self-imposed challenges, made a great company, successfully raised three children with his extraordinary wife of 48 years, and accomplished the life's work of many men.
By Gerard DiLeo2 years ago in Fiction
Solitude Is Best Served Stuffed
In-person job interviews were a tedious, waste of time, anxiety-filled task. If you wanted me for my resume and were lured by my phone conversing skills, then you should have already made up your mind about accepting me onto your customer service team. It was an at-home work position anyhow. Why would you need me to leave said home?
By Oneg In The Arctic2 years ago in Fiction
Hush
I was flung back against the wall and the door slammed behind me. I was conscious of a rising dread, one that only increased as I looked around. The room was creepily neat and tidy, but it was not clean. Dark stains, brownish, spattered the cement walls and stone floor. The bed against the wall looked clean enough, and it was surprisingly large and soft. For a room that looked singularly like a cell, the bed was out of place.
By ThatOne_Girl2 years ago in Fiction
