Why I was forced to insult my teacherOur teacher comes to class straight from his law office, always in a tie and sometimes in a suit. Always very professional. Today I'm surprised to see him in a pale yellow coat and bright green tie. It assaults the eyes and makes me think of white jackets and celery.
"Nice tie, sir," I say, feeling that it needs commenting on.
He laughs and wonders aloud whether or not I'm being sarcastic.
"So!" Coat off, tie loosened, shirts sleeves rolled, laptop out. "What did everyone do on their day off yesterday? Around the room. Anna, start!"
I grin, remembering. "I received a shipment three weeks early."
"A shipment of what?"
I smile, shake my h
Sounds Like MauveWhat had finally driven her over the edge, Dr. Schwartz recorded, was that she couldn't hear the grapes.Sounds Like Mauve1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Certainly they tasted fine, at least Marian made the same happy sounds she always made when she plopped a seedless red into her mouth and squeezed it with her teeth. The anomaly occurred when they opened her visor.
"Dr. Schwartz?" It was one of the new nurses. "Dr. Schwartz, Marian's parents are here. They said you called?"
"What? Yes, yes, I did call them." Schwartz sighed, tapped a few more notes and slid the stylus back into the sheathe on the side of his tablet. "How is she?"
"Asleep. The sedatives have taken hold."
"Good. I'm going to bring Marian's parents in to see her. I would appreciate it if you could remove her restraints for a bit, just until they leave. Would that be a problem?"
"Of course not, doctor. I'll take care of it."
Schwartz shook her father's hand with a tight grip, looking the man in the eye. He set his other hand reassuringly on her mother's shoulder, saying
Today, I'm Fine. Today my teacher came into the girl's bathroom.Today, I'm Fine.1 year ago in Emotional More Like This
Today he asked if I was okay. Today, I lied.
He rapped on the walls, telling me to answer, or he was coming in. I didn't answer. He came. With my feet on the toilet seat, he found the stall.
"I don't want to dance."
Today he asked if I was okay.
He made me go out and watch. He interrogated me, making me feel bad that he wasn't having fun, wasn't dancing. He offered to be my partner.
Today he asked if I was okay; the fan made my contacts dry, my eyes water.
He thought I didn't want to dance with any of the boys, or that tenth grader that showed up;
Amy's Afternoon'What are we doing after lunch?' asked Amy.Amy's Afternoon1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
'We have to go shopping,' said Mummy, 'and I have to go to the bank, and I might pop to the chemist's for -'
'Do I have to go?'
'Yes, darling, there's no one to look after you. Oh Amy, don't look like that. It won't take long.' That was a lie. 'Then afterwards we're going to Aunt Fuzzy's for tea.'
'Oh no!' said Amy.
'Oh Amy, really! What's wrong with Aunt Fuzzy?'
'You always talk about boring things, and she gives me funny flavours of Ribena.'
'She's got very old eyes, darling,' said Mummy. 'She finds it very difficult to read
FlyingFlyingFlying1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Once upon a time there lived a king who had a very stressful life. His country was very small and the larger countries that surrounded it gave him constant threat of war. His country was also very poor, and even his own castle was a sad, dilapidated estate.
Because of all his problems, the King never had the interest or time to get married. But as the years went on, his advisors pleaded more and more with him to take a wife. They argued it would be for the good of the kingdom.
The King disagreed. To him, women were frail and nervous creatures, always crying and fainting. Any queen of this country would need nerves of steel to match
Queen Bee The moment I was hatched from my egg, my mother tried to eat me. I was fortunate because I successfully escaped from her wrath. Later, I would learn that I was never supposed to be born because my mother was the Queen, and as her child, I was meant to be a male servant. But something went wrong. I was a girl. Everyone knew that if the Queen bore a girl, they would have a battle to the death. Instead, my mother tried to eat me when I was just a larvae.Queen Bee1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I got lucky I suppose, since one of her servants picked me up we flew off before my mother could bite my head off. His kaleidosc
The LaboratoryThere was a laboratory once. It was a long time ago, but it was there. And within this laboratory there was a score of men who worked and thought all day long. Their very dreams might have been their work, as well. But who knows? It is impossible to read an individual's mind. It is hidden behind lock and key. Or rather, the eyes and the skull hide everything.The Laboratory1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
The laboratory was a curious one, for they tested both men and trees. These doctors or scientists or madmen or whatever one calls such beings were trying to extract a secret from the trees. They wanted the trees' secret so badly, and they wanted to give the secret to men. But each man w
The August Rooster and the Eater of Pearls"Are you the spawn of Satan?" the woman asks me. She is wearing welding goggles and holding a clipboard.The August Rooster and the Eater of Pearls11 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"No," I say. "Hello. I'm--"
"Yes, yes, the potential apprentice. Sara, was it?"
"Samantha. It's a pleasure to meet you both."
"Lovely to meet you too, Samantha," the man says, stepping forward to shake my hand. His skin is cold, and I swear he has scales. "Are you ready go?"
"We're taking you with us for this afternoon's search."
"Ah. Yes. Okay then."
They both turn to leave, and I trail after them. They move quickly, and I end up having to alternate between walking and running to keep up.
"Out of interest, what exactly is i
always half-finishedi can tell you how much i loathe anyone or anything that lingers, even when they're beautiful. my anxiety disorder can't handle any of that. yet it's been one year and one month and i'm still stuck in reverse.always half-finished7 months ago in Emotional More Like This
nauseated is the prettiest emotion i've felt so far because for once, i can see an actual physical rejection, rather than these invisible strings snapping on the inside, but never showing even a blemish on the outside.
my screams have begun to ferment as they remain bottled up in what i imagine to be gruesome-colored vials within the shelves of my intestines. each vial must be carrying individual, heart-straining yelps, yelling and so
She Asked HerSpelled out in cut newspaper.She Asked Her11 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Diagnosis You were diagnosed on the fifth of June. We were at the clinic, reading month-old magazines while melodies from the elevator music station drifted from the overhead speakers. You had a frown on your face, I was lost in thought, and when they called you in I didn't even notice. That is, until, I realized the atmosphere had gotten considerably lighter in the past few minutes since you had left.Diagnosis1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
So I sat in content silence reading yard tips for the garden we didn't have until you returned. Your face was ashen, and you were quiet, but still you managed to don a superior smirk. This composure you maintained until we got in the car, but as soo
swallowing silver spoonsShe counts thirty-one days during every odd month and thirty days during every even month (apart from February, but that doesn't matter, everything else is the same). There are twenty-four hours in a day, and she thinks that doesn't matter, either, because it leaks away just like the number of days.swallowing silver spoons1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The days pass in a blur and she wonders what happens if she oh, just happens to glance out the window because she thinks that the world's going to end anyway. Might as well just sit here.
So this is life, broken and battered after withstanding just a few years of marriage, but then again, she never quite expected him to die early. Just one of th
Dear StrangerDear Stranger,Dear Stranger1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
I hope you are reading this letter before you have gone outside. I imagine you will have a few questions on your mind when you see how things are out there. Luckily, you happen to have this conveniently placed "doggy-door" through which I have slipped the letter you now hold in your hands.
First, I would like to apologize for the state of your mailbox. By this point I imagine you have ventured outside and seen a few things worth the raising of an eyebrow or two and I assure you, all will be explained. The mailbox. I am deeply sorry for the condition it is in. You may notice that the box itself is hanging askew, the flag seems to have disappeared(I searched high and low, I promise.), and the post seems to be broken in several places though I have done my best to repair it with duct tape. It might also be worth mentioning that it has been moved several feet to the left.
You see I was driving home late last night from work (They have me working another man's shift while
The Letter WriterHe was a letter writer.The Letter Writer10 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Written letters had long become a thing of the pastafter all, why would one write when one could receive instant gratification through an electronic device? All of these things made life so much easier.
In fact, Alan lived in a time where most people didn't know how to write. Everyone was proficient in reading, of courseafter all, one had to read the daily screen to know the news and things that were going on. And all children learned how to type before they were five years old. But writing was not something that was used anymore, and it had become almost socially unacceptable to write anything. It wasn't
It's There When You Aren't LookingEliza slapped her library card on to the faux-wood counter. "I want this one!"It's There When You Aren't Looking1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Patrons usually rang the little silver bell when no one was attending to the checkout, but Eliza couldn't see it; the bell was kept out of the reach of five year olds for a reason. She was about to yell again when the librarian bustled around the corner; the autographed Hemingway would have to wait.
"Well hello dearie. Don't you look cute in your karate uniform."
Eliza squeezed her doll in one arm and put the other one on her hip. "I want that one," she said pointing to the book while tossing her blonde ringlets.
"Quantum Immortality," the librarian read. "An O
speak.i started biting my lips after it happened.speak.1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
caught. we'd gotten caught. his body had frozen with his hand down my pants and mine had frozen in a clenched white knuckles position as i prayed for him to stop but no, he wouldn't stop, he never stopped though i begged him to stop. and then months and a trial went by but all i could remember was the smell of the moldy mop in that janitor's closet.
no one knows when it started. i didn't know it had started. i still don't think it happened but my bleeding lips keep telling me otherwise.
"it never happened."
sweetie what do you mean?
"it never happened."
they didn't understand what i was saying
Tiddy MunI saw him every day, fishing on the banks of the small river that flowed through town. Sometimes, when I wasn't late for my courses, I would lean against the bridge and stare into the water, wondering what that old fool was hoping to catch. He was a curious fellow, always in a grey, flannel suit and always smoking his pipe. I could tell from a distance that he was a man of small stature. Had it not been for his burly, silver beard, I would have mistaken him for a child skipping school.Tiddy Mun2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Nobody ever bothered him and he was always alone. On my way home, if I walked over the same bridge, he would still be sitting on the riv
Skinny Dipping in MortalitySome days, Tartaros beckons to me.Skinny Dipping in Mortality1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
My mother's desperation to retain me was understandable, it seems. It seems that I am stuck between two forces that need me like breathing, that tug back and forth until I now fear that I may rip in half. Mother calls me back with warmth and sunlight; he calls me back with silence.
The dead are the most interesting conversationalists, at least when they can be coerced into speaking. Oh, some simply stare or wallow about in their sadness, but others the good dead, the ones who do not think they still live but truly know it are truly worth my time. That is the only thing I possess in droves.
Night Visions The girl drove too fast through the darkest hour of the night. She was fifteen years old, pushing a car much older to near eighty miles per hour. The motor whined in response to her heavy foot on the accelerator. It was a motor held together with baling wire and a shade-tree mechanic's blessing, tools used by her cousin Tommy.Night Visions2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Adeleine felt free, like the car was her own body speeding forward. She wanted to drive forever. She felt both younger and older, like she was the night itself and all it held. The car was her means to move faster than she'd ever done before.
being a vampire really limits your career choices"You know, for years, I wanted to become a priest."being a vampire really limits your career choices1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I looked up from the apple I was slicing and raised an eyebrowa habit I'd picked up from him in the weeks since we'd met.
"What made you change your mind?" I asked him, dropping my gaze again.
"The Church only accepts blood-drinking when it relates to the Mass."
I laughed in spite of myself.
"I'd have thought it was the immortality thing."
"Well, that, too." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him smile. "It would have raised suspicion after a few decades."
I speared a slice of apple on the end of the knife and offered it to him. Rather than plucking off, he delicately bit it off
Dog AdviceI spoke to him as an airplane glided overhead: "I have always had this sort of love/hate relationship with melodramatic phrases and expression. Words and terms that were once powerful, like love and soul and eyes and ocean, have all become weak and horribly cliché as a main result of brutal abuse and overuse. There are other ways to write love poems than basic comparisons and Italian sonnets; it's quite obvious that you can stare into somebody's eyes and figure out what's going through their pretty little head. But there ARE other features of the human anatomy, can't you watch her chest tense up or his shoulder's simply slump and relax bDog Advice1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
SliverThey say that if you stand in front of a wall of glass at exactly four minutes past midnight and tap your fingers on it three times, you can open a door to the void beyond this world. It has to be somewhere you can see your reflection, and see through it, hovering like a ghost over the darkness beyond, somewhere dim enough that you can't quite tell the difference between light and shade. And unless you hit the glass where you touched it, shatter the half-formed image before the fifth minute strikes, that door will never close.Sliver8 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
Celia Gray has never been one for urban legends. So much so, that she would never turn down a chance to prove one wr
The Green Line."Myles Cliffs, National Channel," I said, burying a hand inside my leather jacket's pocket. Finding what I sought for, I pulled it out, showing him my Journalist Pass.The Green Line.3 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Are you a friend of his?" The doctor asked, shoving his gloved hands in the pockets of his robe. His eyes stared back at me, but I could see them shoting looks around, not settling on a place. I guesed that he probably wished he could be elsewhere, away from a me, a guy that looked more like a junkie than a journalist.
I pondered over the question, running a half-gloved hand through my charcoal hair. Was I? Murmuring a single 'yes' would be an easy way out, but it would be a
MemoryI'm certain I'll be dead by the time anyone else reads this. So dear reader, if in fact you can read these words I've written, let me say that you're talking to a ghost and I might just be haunting you. So, what words do the dead have for the living? What is there to say; I cannot offer you any comfort, and I cannot give any fact that might ease your passing.Memory4 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
In life I had a name, but that doesn't matter. Many people once had the same name before me, and many since has borne it too. It was just a signpost, not me. A name is a way to differentiate one from another, never to describe who I was. I had two lives see. One was before the fall, the