Satire
The Real Uncensored Story of Ogopogo
Legend has it — and fake news has been trying to bury this story ever since I made a meal of one those, particular, Kelowna inhabitants — that I lurk just off the coast of Knox Mountain, in this sort of bay, a wee bit from a place called: Paul’s Tomb. It may be, for this reason, that Kelownafornians erected a sculpture of me and then promptly sank the darn thing into the water, at a depth of 25 feet. But, anyhow, it is often here, upon the side of the gorge, where the unfortunate would-be trekker might just lose his or her footing, and, quite unceremoniously, fall from the jagged ledge — and plummet into the cool, dark, waters below. Occasionally, it is here, too, that I happen to snatch one of these Kelownafornians by the ankle and swiftly drag them with me far, far, down into the depths below, whilst he or she is still squirming like spawning salmon during the month of September.
By Delusions of Grandeur 3 years ago in Fiction
Dinner Regrets
Drew twirled the spaghetti around and around his fork. His eyes were fixed on the plate, the watery sauce splayed along the edges. It barely coated the noodles. In his peripheral vision he could still see May twirling her hands around a napkin. Her plate hadn’t been touched. Not a good sign considering this was her favorite meal. That was why she had made it. It had nothing to do with him. He would have preferred chicken.
By Katrina Thornley3 years ago in Fiction
Such Is Life In Soviet Russia
One day in glorious Russia, a small peasant child was working in the field for the good of the party. The dirty peasant child then came upon a potato stuck in the soil of glorious Russia. Peasant child tried to pull the potato out of the ground but he was too weak. Dirty peasant then grabbed the potato and jerked it out of the pure Russian soil. Stupid peasant child then failed to notice a marking on the potato which said property of the USA.
By Robert Helton3 years ago in Fiction
MR.Violence: Part One
Born In Heaven, Raphael a guardian angel tasked to work a hand full of people on earth for many years. Rapheal also had a part to play in the battle of heaven as he was youngest angel and was very close with Lucifer up until he betrayed him during the battle which he had become the fallen and became the Devil .
By Victor Robinson II3 years ago in Fiction
The Apex Associate
CHAPTER 1 Year 226 in transit “‘Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say…’” the commissioner reads aloud the electronic transcript from across the large red-cedar table. He huskily continues “‘guess we’re about to find out...prick’”. He’s parroting back my own words, intermittently staring into my soul for emphasis.
By Molly McPhee3 years ago in Fiction
The Incomplete Elements of Reign.
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. I remember thinking this to myself the day it happened, laying upside down on my couch, in the dark living room of my apartment. With Bethoven blaring in my noise canceling headphones and rivers of tears streaming down my face. Staring into my existential void through eloquently transitioned images of space dancing across the tv screen ahead of me. But, that was then.
By Courtney Nichols3 years ago in Fiction
B.G.
Scantily clad women walked by the bar in colors that would make a florist blush. The music boomed and strobe lights, lasers, and even more girls poured into the space like it was a pageant for Miss America. Artie Morrissey, a man the color of pecans, sat down with the Prophet Mohammad.
By Skyler Saunders3 years ago in Fiction
The Disruptor
A cerulean sky welcomed the speaker and media members to better understand the position of the speaker. Glints of sunlight shone through the silver leaves onto the podium. When the press crowd had finally died down, the Prophet Mohammad could finally speak.
By Skyler Saunders3 years ago in Fiction
Falling Pillars
With all the different ways that he was able to win over a billion plus people, the Prophet Mohammad took it all in stride. He held onto his sense that he was the messenger of the unknown and unknowable. He roamed the streets of Newark, Delaware on Main Street. A cool Saturday in Autumn saw a breeze which shook the trees’ golden and orange leaves. When people waved, he waved back. When they honked their horns, he smiled.
By Skyler Saunders3 years ago in Fiction
