Satire
Not Without Incident
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Which is true. In fact, you can't really hear dick-all in space. Not only due to the vacuum part but also because there isn't anything to make any noise. It's quiet as shit out here. Pardon my language, but I've been out here a long time, floating aimlessly by myself, and it's starting to wear on me. It's not supposed to be aimless, of course, and maybe the lads who shot me out here actually do have a trajectory programmed into this supersized CT scanner, but it feels aimless. I mean, there's no up or down or left or right in space, right? It's just...space, empty bloody space, and my official review of space so far is that it's rubbish.
By Adam Diehl3 years ago in Fiction
Who am I?
The query of who am I seems to be the only question you can actually solution. Yet, when I took the time to try to parent out Who am I, I discovered this question is the one that requires important wondering. In wellknown, the answer to this question is that I am a normal individual who loves spending quality time with the humans I respect. In addition, I dedicate myself to completing my duties, and I actually have a dream of becoming a awesome character. However, there are such a lot of other things that make me someone. I constantly try to use each opportunity to have greater unfastened time for my pursuits.
By Abhinav Pandey3 years ago in Fiction
A Perfectly Natural Haircut
Welcome! Come right in, please. Thank you for coming to Hair First! Barbers: where your hair is more important than anyone else’s hair. We are one of the highest-rated barber shops online, I think, of all time. In fact, everyone is always telling me how great we are, despite only having been open for a week. My name is Quinn. Mind the water on the floor as you enter. The last customer wasn’t careful enough, despite my warning, and slipped. Completely his fault. Yes, actually, that little patch of blood there. No, the other one.
By Joshua Drama3 years ago in Fiction
Off the Rails
A crescent of faint orange light winds its way under Paul's heavy lids, waking him all at once. This pisses him off, having always enjoyed the slow secession of oblivion from being, the somnambulant spectacle of the heavy dark deliquescing as the soft salmon glow of lamplight crept in, night a slipstream of the gentle dawn …
By T. McCormack3 years ago in Fiction
Manifesto of a Runaway Train
Thirteen thousand, seven hundred, forty-three horsepower, a V8 turbo charged engine, sixteen wheels with three extras just in case and track ahead of me for days. They’ve set me free, started my engine and now I’m not going to stop until I kill every last person on board this train.
By Rafe Kaplan3 years ago in Fiction
