The typhoon decimated the village.
Huts were razed to ground level; palm trees had snapped like matchsticks. Rotting corpses and flooding were giving rise to disease and more death. Post-disaster survival was paramount here.
Across the globe, a starlet with handbag Chihuahua was complaining about her caviar and lobster bisque.
Melanie Cranenburgh wrote this story.
Trying to outrun his pursuer, the terrified man scrambled and stumbled. It was too late; gigantic spiked forearms grabbed him. His captor was the size of a car.
Inside the Rhinoceros Beetle’s underground lair, human specimens of varying ethnicities were neatly arranged and labelled—each impaled with a giant pin.
Melanie cringes with horror when recalling the time she was made to stick pins into arthropods for a science project.
My cousin, a dentist, became bored with mundane extractions, fillings, and teeth whitening. So he decided to specialise in crafting vampire fangs for niche clients.
I asked him, “Why the change?”
His response? He’d simply grown tired of working in a soulless job that sucked the life out of him.
Melanie has a greater fear of visiting dentists than she has of vampires.
Crocodile and Hippo were arguing over who was the more dangerous of the two.
Crocodile boasted, “I kill a thousand humans annually!”
Hippo scoffed, “I’m responsible for thrice that number of fatalities!”
Then a man came into view. Pointing at him, Crocodile sighed. “I think we finally have our winner…”
Melanie Cranenburgh lives in Western Australia, where a plethora of dangerous creatures make life interesting.
My heart pounding in my chest, I watched as you lay on the white linen, still and silent. The fan’s breeze fluttered your hair and eyelashes. You looked cool, reposed, as though sleeping. I squeezed your hand and whispered for you to open your eyes, once more.
But you didn’t.
Melanie Cranenburgh lives in Western Australia and rescues wildlife in her spare time.