Mystery
Closing The Loop
Dear Miss Whitward, I hope this letter finds you well. I apologise for its brevity; I am short of time. I am coming to New York. I land on April 17th. If I am welcome, I can come to you on April 19th. Please write to me in New York to confirm. Do not tell the family. I want to make amends.
By Jo Lavender3 years ago in Fiction
Rattle in the Dark
The drone's whirring wasn't what woke me. I'd grown accustomed to an ever present buzzing that descended upon the city every dawn, replacing cries of Red-winged Blackbirds and Chickadees, rooster calls of a modern age. I learned to drown them out until I truly believed air was born with the movement and sound of tiny propeller blades in flight. But blades hadn't woken me nor the groaning wind clamoring through the drain pipes engulfing my house in an eerie hollow moan. It was the rattling, chss-chss-chss chss-chss-chss, waking me to a hovering drone clasping a black box in alien claws. Scanning my side-door’s code and automatically signing for me, the busy winged-whippet scampered off leaving an ominous shoebox shadow neath the glass and turn-handle door. Still rattling. Swishing back and forth melodic in a metronom like way, lying motionless but shaking, chss-chss-chss. Maybe the drone had pulled a Jim Carry and punted the box robo-style down the streets, a sick parody of Pet Detective. Doubtful. In the twenty-eight years I’d gotten mail via flying messenger never once had I received a damaged or broken product. Not once.
By Lilly Wages3 years ago in Fiction
Karma
We often underestimate the power that simple words can hold. We throw them around carelessly, taking little stock in how much damage they can cause. The massive effect they can have when we truly believe in what we are saying. But all the same, we are taught from a young age that words are merely noise that we can choose to ignore and POOF- they disappear. No harm, no foul. The old adage, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” was something I heard repeatedly throughout childhood. It was a simple lesson, you string silly words together to form silly sentences and ultimately it’s you who gets to choose what they mean and the effect that they have. And that’s exactly what I believed.
By Samantha Dunn3 years ago in Fiction
The Strange Package
The bus came to a stop and Jane got off. She took a moment and stretched her neck from side to side feeling the effects of her unexpected double shift at the hospital. Just one block away was her tea kettle and a comfy couch. She was tired, but it was still too early in the day to head to bed.
By Michael Gimera3 years ago in Fiction
The Box Office
A box landed on my desk. It had been tampered with because I had seen the tape that had secured the box, had been sliced open with a sharp object. It was just a plain old box. The standard tan brown colour, no advertising, nothing extravagant about it. I turned it over to see if there was at least an address on it. Nothing.
By Jerome Smith-Pula3 years ago in Fiction
