Satire
It’s Following Me
I aimed, I fired. Then I missed. The Buck saw me. It charged. I started running through the woods, screaming like a little child. The Buck persued. The Buck was now hunting me. I jumped into the bushes. The Buck found me and knocked me out of the bushes. I rolled on the ground. It broke most of my ribs. I was in too much pain to move. It charged me again. I passed out. The Buck dragged me back to its home and placed me on a rock, where I now lay on display.
By Alex H Mittelman 3 years ago in Fiction
Bargain
Her eyes looked me over as she picked up the purse that I had dropped on the floor. She shared a smile of false care; “Our product line is high end and nothing less than a three-hundred-dollar accessory is available.” She suggested I try an outlet store down the road.
By C. H. Richard3 years ago in Fiction
Let It Go !
It was almost sunset and I wanted to get some peace and quiet away from everyone’s annoying and needless chatter. I bought myself a sandwich and sat on a bench nearby. As I started eating my sandwich, a little girl sat next to me; and I knew from her obnoxiously loud crying that I was not going to enjoy my time in peace. She kept her head down and her hands on her lap. I put my sandwich back in my bag and looked at her. “Alright, kid. What is it?” She looked up to me then back down. I had to stop myself from rushing her but the silence was definitely getting on my nerves. She finally looked up again, sniffed then said, “There’s just this boy and…”
By Talha Bin Asad3 years ago in Fiction
I’m Watching You
I stood in the tall corn stalks, quietly watching Jenny. I loved watching her, smelling her wafting perfume. She couldn’t see me, but I could see her. I slowed my breathing so she couldn’t hear me. I crouched down to remain hidden until I was ready to ambush. I was grinding my teeth, patiently waiting. My fists clenched, I was almost ready. “Charlie, come out from hiding. Dinners ready,” she shouted. I jumped out and yelled “boo” loudly. “Oh, Charlie, you scared me. You’re such a silly child,” she said. “One day, I’ll really scare you,” I said, smiling deviously.
By Alex H Mittelman 3 years ago in Fiction
Time Travel Possibility.
Once upon a time, there was a man named Jack who had just graduated from college and was trying to figure out what to do with his life. Jack was passionate about music and had always dreamed of becoming a successful musician. However, he was also practical and knew that pursuing a career in music was risky and uncertain.
By Bashir Ndawula3 years ago in Fiction
The Write Way to Victory
Amidst the sea of words that flow, A writer's journey must still go, Through valleys low and mountains high, To perfect their craft and reach the sky. Writing contests await, far and wide, To help hone the writer's skill and pride, To showcase their tales and heartfelt verse, And connect with readers, better or worse. Vocal.media, Writer's Digest, and more, Offer a chance to open new doors, With writing contests throughout the year, And themes that range far and near. Poets & Writers, a haven for verse, With regular contests that quench your thirst, And Winning Writers, with contests aplenty, Free to enter, to tempt the frugal penny. Reedsy, FanStory, and Gotham Writers, A trio that sparks creative fires, With monthly or weekly contests and themes, To inspire the wordsmith's wildest dreams. From The Women's Prize for Fiction to The Bath Novel Award, These contests are more than a mere reward, With cash prizes and publishing deals in sight, And opportunities to shine in the literary light. So, writers and poets, take a chance, Enter these contests and take a stance, On the path to greatness, with pen in hand, Your journey awaits, in a faraway land. - Vivia Volupta @thepleasurepen
By The Pleasure Pen3 years ago in Fiction
Word Count
As he obsessed over his word count yet again the author wondered why such an arbitrary, meaningless number, seemed to be so important to so many people. After a great deal of thought the best he could come up with was that humans have an intrinsic need to measure things and believe that a thing which cannot be measured is a thing of less value. He went to bed that night and cried himself to sleep. A thing very typical for a writer like himself.
By Everyday Junglist3 years ago in Fiction
