He nestled against the coffee-shop divan, supremely content but not knowing why. Glancing at the crumbs and Amsterdam guidebook in his lap, it really wasn’t rocket science. Still, when he landed on the reason a crescent-moon smile dawned across his face.
“Space cake…”
Young Neil Armstrong had found his calling.
Emre Ruhi has a passion for writing short and rarely serious stories and poems. You can see more of his writing and other creative pursuits at www.focusless.com.
Shayna struts down the hall. Today, she is in a good place.
She won the case; the promotion is hers. Steve finally asked her to dinner.
Everyone around her is smiling, watching.
Until she realizes that her blouse is missing a button, in a not so good place after all.
A Good Place was written by Larissa Ryan, who occassionally makes time to write down the meandering thoughts of her overly-critical mind.
On Monday, Oliver fell on his face.
On Tuesday, Oliver fell down the stairs.
On Wednesday, Oliver fell on a girl.
On Thursday, Oliver fell in love.
On Friday, Oliver fell into a ring store.
On Saturday, Oliver made it all the way down the aisle without falling even once.
Cowering under a table, Lee listened and waited.
They were coming.
Lee saw their socked feet move through the kitchen, past her hiding place. They stopped outside her bedroom door…
…then flung it open, shouting, “Surprise! Happy Birthday!”
She stifled a scream, scrambled out from under the table, and fled.
The heifer chewed her cud. It was thicker than yesterday’s. Oh, what was that? There was something crunchy in her mouth. Cud wasn’t supposed to crunch. Had she eaten something unusual? The heifer couldn’t remember.
In the burning depths of Hades, Cyborg George massaged his seething soul, already plotting revenge.
THE END
(Or is it?)
“I ate a bumblebee.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I wanted to feel it buzz around inside my belly!”
“And can you feel it?”
“Nope.”
“Well that’s too bad.”
“I figure it’s just bored in there.”
“Oh?”
“That’s why I’m going to swallow another one to be its friend.”
“Stop! You’re making me uncomfortable! No! I said back off!” Sharon stumbled away and sank to her knees on the grass, tears welling up in her eyes. “Don’t touch me! I’ll scream!”
Sighing, the Wind turned to leave. It was beginning to think it would never find someone to love.
She danced like a bird; she danced like a gazelle; she danced like a hurricane.
She danced like chocolate; she danced like a song; she danced like a rainbow.
After the accident, the doctors say, though her body was motionless, she danced in her mind, painting pictures in their EEGs.
What could I write?
How could I tell him not to call, that I was going away and no longer needed him like I had before. Every day since we’d met he’d brought something fresh and new into my life.
The truth! Yes, the truth.
No milk today, thank you.
This guest story was written by Louise C.
The summer sun shone down bright and hot on a highway filled with impatient, upset drivers.
Horns were blaring as frustrated police officers tried to direct traffic through a single open lane.
The driver of the overturned Smuckers tanker truck sat on the ground in handcuffs, chuckling softly to himself.