Satire
Midnight Bus
The bus doors opened with a long metallic sigh, even though no one had pressed the stop button. For a moment, I stood on the empty sidewalk wondering if I had imagined it. The streetlights flickered softly above me, and the road stretched into darkness like an unanswered question. I had been waiting for nearly thirty minutes, and the city around me had already fallen asleep.
By Vocal Member about 9 hours ago in Fiction
Chili, like in Italy
A fly whirs its wings and flies away from a flickering bulb in the corner of a hospital corridor. The pistachio-green paint smells of newness and sterile freshness. The metal that connects lined-up chairs, obediently in a row of five along the walls opposite the consulting room doors, matches the green. It’s 8 p.m., so only one is still open. Emergency care must be accessible at any time. You never know when something might happen to you.
By George Roast6 days ago in Fiction
To Company Men & Coporate Mythologies
The most important thing you can own is a strong sense of smell. Melody knew the exact tensile strength of the glass that separated her from the street. She had tested it - and been tested by it. Over time, she had learned the exact depths of the moral bankruptcy of the men who stood behind it. She crossed Security with her key/ID card - and scaled the high-rise in minutes. She heard the outspoken wind as the weight and force of the elevator car pushed the wind to the ground floor. The 41st floor was a wall of tempered glass encased in steel. The floor stunk of a thin, quiet desperation and the very same bankruptcy from the elevator bank to her cubicle - but, on the surface, she only smelled the freshly shampooed carpet.
By James L. Royer6 days ago in Fiction
