Humor
The Factory
Resting at the very top of the Minamax building, looking out over a grey sea of rooftops, was a very important room. This was a room where decisions were made and strategies were formed. Being an important room, it was filled with important people, important papers and very important diagrams on a large and important-looking whiteboard. Today the whiteboard showed a box with four quadrants. One contained a crudely drawn dog; another, a question mark; the third, a cow; and the fourth, a star.
By Yvette Absalom4 years ago in Fiction
Underwear, Outerwear & Travel
I hate packing. In fact, packing and procrastination go hand in hand in my book. Worse still, packing becomes more tedious with age. Let's face it, you grow older and as such, require more external assistance to simply get through your day. What do you need to pack as a carefree twenty-one year old? A smile, LBD, credit card, inherent lightness of being and a clean pair of underwear (the latter being optional dependent on how sunny your disposition is). In turn, packing in your thirties becomes harder still with the stress of kids and their essential items. This includes nappies, spare clothes, ear plugs and Polaramine for both Mum and baby alike.
By Jaimmy Hountalas4 years ago in Fiction
A Cat Called Eggs
I first caught sight of Eggs, The Ginger Terror, as he flew out of my peripheral vision, an orange streak of light in hot pursuit of an enormous black cat that I had nicknamed ‘The Panther.’ The Panther had earned his moniker by merit of his largeness and his predilection for pouncing on field mice from the limbs of an old, twisted apple tree that stood in a vacant lot across the street. The tree now provided sanctuary as he shot up its trunk to a top limb. Fast on his heels, Eggs stopped only at its base, satisfied at having treed his quarry. He stood firm for a moment, staring up at The Panther, his tail held straight and high, like a puffy orange battle flag. Then he turned and trotted purposefully back towards our building. “Wow.” I said out loud, to no one. “That cat is a badass.” Mr. Beans whined from behind the screen door. He had been watching the chase scene with intense enthusiasm, as chasing things is his primary interest in life.
By Heather Walters4 years ago in Fiction
A Cat Called Eggs
I first caught sight of Eggs, The Ginger Terror, as he flew out of my peripheral vision, an orange streak of light in hot pursuit of an enormous black cat that I had nicknamed ‘The Panther.’ The Panther had earned his moniker by merit of his largeness and his predilection for pouncing on field mice from the limbs of an old, twisted apple tree that stood in a vacant lot across the street. The tree now provided sanctuary as he shot up its trunk to a top limb. Fast on his heels, Eggs stopped only at its base, satisfied at having treed his quarry. He stood firm for a moment, staring up at The Panther, his tail held straight and high, like a puffy orange battle flag. Then he turned and trotted purposefully back towards our building. “Wow.” I said out loud, to no one. “That cat is a badass.” Mr. Beans whined from behind the screen door. He had been watching the chase scene with intense enthusiasm, as chasing things is his primary interest in life.
By Heather Walters4 years ago in Fiction
A Cat Called Eggs. Top Story - December 2021.
I first caught sight of Eggs, The Ginger Terror, as he flew out of my peripheral vision, an orange streak of light in hot pursuit of an enormous black cat that I had nicknamed ‘The Panther.’ The Panther had earned his moniker by merit of his largeness and his predilection for pouncing on field mice from the limbs of an old, twisted apple tree that stood in a vacant lot across the street. The tree now provided sanctuary as he shot up its trunk to a top limb. Fast on his heels, Eggs stopped only at its base, satisfied at having treed his quarry. He stood firm for a moment, staring up at The Panther, his tail held straight and high, like a puffy orange battle flag. Then he turned and trotted purposefully back towards our building. “Wow.” I said out loud, to no one. “That cat is a badass.” Mr. Beans whined from behind the screen door. He had been watching the chase scene with intense enthusiasm, as chasing things is his primary interest in life.
By Heather Walters4 years ago in Fiction
Why Florida's Mail Moves So Slowly
I am not a USPS driver nor will I probably ever be. So realize this story is an entirely fictional take on a day in the job. Also the Florida Man story in this piece is also fictional as far as I know. If you happen to know of a story that has a lot of similarities then please share it with me.
By Josephine Mason4 years ago in Fiction
