She could have walked in any moment tonight. Proposing for a few drinks. Or movies...anything to delay that moment she dreaded when she enters home only to be greeted by a deafening silence. She said it made her miss her late husband. When he was alive, he used to greet her arrival with an interview about her day at the office. He knew everybody in her department without having met them and he inquired about them every night when she arrives. Every night for how many years. And so now, coming home in total silence felt weird to her as if there is something missing somewhere.
He understands now what she meant. He feels exactly the same way tonight. It is- as he explains to himself, a result of habit: he has grown so used to her being around and now that she’s gone, he still finds himself anticipating her to appear at the doorway whenever the door swings open during late hours.
Category: Short story / Cumulative Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 151 / Month's Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 151
by Jun Yap
Cole sat on the plane, carrying ammunition and some guns to a base in Nevada. Nobody knew this except for him and his commanders. Then out of the blue, 3 planes were behind him, Cole glimpsed the swastika on the sides of the planes, all the planes were equipped with a gunner on the back. They started firing. The bullets tore through his wings and he could do nothing except force a landing. He shouted into the radio. “MAYDAY MAYDAY, Plane….. “CRASH”
Category: Short story / Cumulative Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 163 / Month's Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 163
by Chris Drew
Dedicated to my beautiful girlfriend, I love you and I couldn’t have done this without your help.
Category: Short story / Cumulative Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 169 / Month's Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 169
BE THIS TALE'S TOP
and see your name on this scroll
I Work at an art museum. All my life I observe the observers that awe or complain about over the embodiment of an artist’s mind hung up. Seeing the name as a status, commending or dissing them for not selling them a brand well enough. Let’s say I ask you do picture Van Gogh, what do you think of? Certain individuals might think of blue and yellow palate in the night, or a chopped off ear laying on a satin cloth in a display case. Lit up like the items of the artist’s own insanity. Let me bring up another one, the homeless man named Westie, a paraplegic. Logically using the needs of food, water, crack, and booze, he places a pencil in his mouth and moves his head back and forth against bits of paper. It’s even impressive listening to an event like this through conversation, but witnessing a lonely almost sane, raggy Monet, who creates something better than Jesus on the 4th day. Only to society though he is forever pictured as bitter pocket change and empty bottles. No brand, no specific colors but tan cardboard under misfit shades of grimed green. Society sees the perfect little idea of Jesus, unless it is covered in easily, avoidable filth. Shame on them.
My job is to protect, project the repetitive prints and chunky old art. When you are alone in a building, in a shiny, open, old, empty building you are out of focus. Not even dreaming of what my career will be after my job. When you’re in an empty, scary place in your mind creates thoughts that you can clear, manipulate, console, and torture as they scream into your ears. Just how people are manipulated from or for a society. Can’t stress enough how productive I am at what I do here. At times I even help with the janitors, dusting the shelves and displays, just so I can imagine the specks floating to another world of a piece dark polished furniture. I feel power in watching for thieves who try to get rich off my duty. I never have stopped anyone, no crime, no vigilantes; just myself. I see myself as a father, no wait more like a uncle who gets passed down from generation to generation until he can’t comprehend the idea of a family no longer. I don’t give a shit.
Category: Novel / Cumulative Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 35 / Month's Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 35
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