Tags » Tiny Story

Language of Leftovers

6pm and you’re still in your pajamas.   You haven’t left the house.

Its raining. It’s pouring. And you’re an old man who’s boring.

Depression comes in waves of indolent joy, like when you spray a can of whipped cream in your mouth and then instantly feel guilty afterwards.  320 more words

Potatoes

How do you know who is who when you’re all jumbled?

Who is the victor, and who is the potato peeler?

Thats me, sitting here, peeling potatoes.  128 more words

Lucas

You have a cancer.

The name of this cancer is “Lucas”.

Lucas likes it when you take out the trash. The cancer grows.

Who will cut Lucas out? 129 more words

Vampire Dreams

I woke up in a strange place.  It was my own future, but at the time I thought I was still alive.  

How could I know I woke up a dead person?   208 more words

It was two years from the date that his second daughter was born. Christened, Madeline Jane, she’d shuddered, chest heaving through her gown, as the priest muttered blessings and sprinkled holy water upon the crown of her smooth, pinkish head. 134 more words

Writing

A Sacred Moment

Morning shivers breaking dawn. A sliver of sunlight slips through the open window.  The first sparrow’s chirrup, ‘Wake up, Wake up. Wake up.’ From somewhere down the street, a child’s laughter scatters like jacks tossed upon cement.

16 more words
Gratitude