Satire

Pear Tree
The pear tree provided shade for the entire Bear family now sitting on a blanket enjoying a Sunday picnic. Not too far off, the charred remains of the old barn captured their attention as if it were a television playing in the background.
By Cyrus Emerson4 years ago in Fiction
Jacob and the Pear Tree
Jacob saw a light. He went to it, knowing full well what it meant. He felt wrapped in joy, a warmth he hadn't known since he was born.
By Justin Streight4 years ago in Fiction
Peaches
On the puffy couch, Helen sat in her pink bathrobe while her small dog Peaches snuggled into her soft plushy thigh. Helen was finishing a bowl of peanut butter ice cream, and entranced with the handsome figure of Alex Trebek on the TV. She savored the last spoon, turning it and pressing her tongue hard against the creamy cold. She liked Alex’s grey suit.
By Heath Hardin4 years ago in Fiction
The ambiguous nature of the voluptuous pear
There was a story once told of an apple and a serpent and a tree of good and evil. We were all once pure, and good, and clean and untainted by the knowledge of right or wrong.
By Novel Allen4 years ago in Fiction
The Divine Director Loses It
He looked again at the text message glaring across the screen and he felt the rage and wrath rising in him. “Yahweh!” the text message screamed. “ I give you a singularity with enough power to create an immense amount of time and space and a 13.5 billion year deadline and this is all you got? Call me back pronto. The producers are screaming for a meeting.”
By Steve B Howard4 years ago in Fiction
Happy Place
In case you don’t already know, the rules are different when you have enough money. My girlfriend tells people I’m an “Elite Concierge.” It’s a title she made up not knowing exactly what I do, but it does sound about right. You see, having tons of money, fame, or influence changes the way you live. I come from a rich family and learned this at a young age. My friends and I made a ton of mischief when we were young but never got into much trouble. As we grew up, the closer we got to trouble the better I got at getting out of it. Mom and dad’s money helped, at first, but then I’d be in trouble with them. So, I had to get better.
By Tales from a Madman4 years ago in Fiction
Bunch of Posers
It's three fifteen and they're not here yet. They said they'd be here at three. I've been sitting on the step, staring at the front door, picking the lint off my sweater for the past thirty minutes. My feet are stuffed sweatily inside my boots, my hand-me-down skates lean against them.
By Lindsay Rae4 years ago in Fiction
SOUTHERN ICE
Here I sit. A southern girl born in the south. Never having seen a snow storm. Never having experienced freezing temperatures. Never having ice skated. Never having thrown a snowball. Never having fallen on my ass as I walked a slippery sidewalk. Yet I'm having these recurring dreams about an icy frozen pond. I'm not skating, or ice fishing or doing anything at this pond. It 's just a big old frozen pond. Something you'd see before they go to the next scene where Jason is killing you.
By Dorothy Gibbs4 years ago in Fiction
Go.
"This is the reddest traffic light in the county! It puts Tammy Fay Baker, the New Jersey Devils, and their Papi Satan to shame!". I howled, into my charcoal 2016 Honda two-door Civic's serially abused steering wheel.
By Barb Snodgrass4 years ago in Fiction
The Pen
Twenty-eight thirteen-year-old bodies stand in silence on a long piece of thin red tape outside the middle school wing. Their jaws are rigid. Sweat begins to form in small beads at the edges of their foreheads. A muffled laugh from a nearby classroom carries their way.
By Will Chesson4 years ago in Fiction
Colourless
Rose Crawford woke once more as the screams of her alarm bellowed into her ears. It was the morning of April 16th and today of all days was essential for her career. She slipped out of bed to begin her day with the ever familiar attitude of a dull, dreary disposition, accompanied by the internal longing that lingered inside the pit of her stomach, day after day. She opened the door and left her house, entering the streets of a black and white world. A colourless society it was, one with no life, no spark, no excitement, and literally no pigment other than the shadows of grey in her opposing extremes. A world with no colour. This was Rose's life.
By Anna Harrison4 years ago in Fiction
An Experiment
In the center of the table was an assortment of drinking paraphernalia: beer boxes, shot glasses, and empty bottles. Various of these items were held together with duct tape to resemble a vaguely human form.
By Henry Felerski4 years ago in Fiction