Suuuuuuuuuuuuup folks, in this thread we only post short stories that do not exceed 300 words, so that we can maintain the short attention span of people who visit the thread!
This short story is called:
Creamed Coffee
Opposed with every single imaginable cell in his body, Elliot fixed his facial muscles with determination to warn the employee behind the counter. Did she really forget to add the fourth count of cream in his coffee again? He watched, like a silent predator watching its prey; as the employee placed his coffee on the counter and typed the order up. Steam slowly rose scented with imperfection and abuse. Worse of all, his payment signified his demand for abuse.
I put a chameleon on a red dildo.
He blushed.
A dog barks as condensation drips from the arse end of a prehistoric air-conditioner and forms a darkened pool on the flagstones that line the side of the footpath. A homeless man vomits into his own coat pocket for the third and final time then falls asleep to the gentle chittering of an ant and a butcher boy arguing about the significance of the observance of Lent in modern society.
Up above, a train rattles along the viaduct as it completes its final loop of the city for the night. On board, a few lucid commuters are held up to bask in the artificial glow that permeates southside through into the wee small hours until the yummy mummies and bazinga-shirted man-babies are roused from their slumbers. Buoyed by the placebic tingle of “all natural” morning stimulants, they will parade their best tracksuited selves along the south bank of the Yarra in a mock race against diabetes and erectile dysfunction.
Before them come the proprietors of the overpriced gnocchi establishments, greying and politely unopinionated. One of them curses as he finds that he has managed to bring the keys to his three imported cars, the parmesan storage crate, the dishwasher, the big freezer, the small freezer and his late mothers monogrammed mancala board but not the key for the front door of the restaurant that he woke up at 5am to open. It does not take him long to decide that breakfast gnocchi will simply be another passing fancy generated by people not prepared to compete in existing gnocchi markets.
Back under the viaduct, the ant and the woodlouse have agreed that while the liturgical origins of Lent mean it is no longer technically relevant in a secular society, there is still a need for an annual observance based on introspection.
[img]http://good-mechs.info/secret/300words.png[/img]
Standing atop the library, I watched my sister ascend into the great cold distance, in search of a son long lost. He would come to her on his own accord, sleepsteering his vessel as he dreamed of oracles and builders. But with their reunion, inevitably, the return of God would coincide, a mass of flesh and clockwork, writhing in Eden until It can scream once more.
The Architect and the Automaton; mother and son, in a way.
Let Yahweh come. The Lances of Longinus shall pierce him once more.
Alright so this one is called 'The perfect band'
Finally, I have formed the perfect band.
After trouble with a lot of the previous members, everyone finally gets along.
I am the singer, which is obviously the most importent member of the band, I am the face.
Our bass player is a hothead, he gets angry very easily.
Our drummer is the most chill dude ever, I really wonder how he and the bass player get along.
The guitar player is a girl, she is very seductive. So far she hasn’t hooked up with any of the other band members, but I’m sure she will.
Right now we’re planning a tour, even though we haven’t even made a song yet, gotta aim big right?
We’re in the recording room now, we have everything set up, the bass, guitar, and drum kit. I am standing behind the micophone.
Oh, how I wish I wasn’t schizophrenic.
snip
[QUOTE=Little Donny;44614835]A dog barks as condensation drips from the arse end of a prehistoric air-conditioner and forms a darkened pool on the flagstones that line the side of the footpath. A homeless man vomits into his own coat pocket for the third and final time then falls asleep to the gentle chittering of an ant and a butcher boy arguing about the significance of the observance of Lent in modern society.
Up above, a train rattles along the viaduct as it completes its final loop of the city for the night. On board, a few lucid commuters are held up to bask in the artificial glow that permeates southside through into the wee small hours until the yummy mummies and bazinga-shirted man-babies are roused from their slumbers. Buoyed by the placebic tingle of “all natural” morning stimulants, they will parade their best tracksuited selves along the south bank of the Yarra in a mock race against diabetes and erectile dysfunction.
Before them come the proprietors of the overpriced gnocchi establishments, greying and politely unopinionated. One of them curses as he finds that he has managed to bring the keys to his three imported cars, the parmesan storage crate, the dishwasher, the big freezer, the small freezer and his late mothers monogrammed mancala board but not the key for the front door of the restaurant that he woke up at 5am to open. It does not take him long to decide that breakfast gnocchi will simply be another passing fancy generated by people not prepared to compete in existing gnocchi markets.
Back under the viaduct, the ant and the woodlouse have agreed that while the liturgical origins of Lent mean it is no longer technically relevant in a secular society, there is still a need for an annual observance based on introspection.
[/QUOTE]
i love this
Jose ran through the night streets as fast as he could. He knew that if he stopped or looked back the choppers would get him, so he had to activate that last battery of his and keep running until he felt blood in his nose.
The choppers have been running after this man for a while now and started to lose the pace, but they would still be able to get him if he slowed down.
Finally Jose took a turn and entered a derelict building. He had to hide somewhere soon so he chose to enter a closet on the second floor of the building. The choppers stopped near the building, guarding the exits.
Jose stopped breathing as he heard a chopper grunt enter the room, looking for him. The grunt with augmented senses would notice him if Jose made a slight motion or sound, so keeping quiet was vital.
Jose got so scared that his heart pounded like a drum and that's what gave him out.
The grunt opened the closet and knocked Jose out. Now it was the corps' business to talk to him in person.
A part of short short texts about a universe I'm making. Sort of cyberpunk action adventures.
Roger could see it then. A lighthouse in the distance shone the way to White Pine Bay. No, it showed him the way to a new life. He could start anew here, forget the past. Maybe his sister would forgive him. His last job. It started here, and now it would end here.
He made the final twists and turns on the road that curved around the mountain that overlooked the town. The gas light on his dash started flashing, "Shit." He made his way through the streets looking for a gas-station, he found a Shell and parked the car next to the pump. "Twenty gallons please." He said, pulling out his wallet. "Will that be credit or debit, sir?" The clerk asked. "Uh... Credit's fine. Here." Roger passed the card over and the clerk ran it down the machine's slit.
[ERROR]
The clerk ran it again.
[ERROR]
"Sorry sir, it's been declined." He said as he passed the card back. "God fucking dammit, Deb." Roger ran out of the store and made his way towards the lighthouse.
Knock knock knock. Each knock got louder as Roger banged on the door of contact's abode. "Open the fucking door, you piece of shit!" The door opened with the force of the next knock. The old, grey-haired man stood in front of the door. "Deb's fucking husband? Really? God dammit man. The job's fucking done, pay up."
"Not one for polite introductions, are you?" The man said, walking over to a table beside him. He grabbed the light brown package tossed it to Roger, "I assume this is right? Fifty thousand US dollars." He took the package and ran out, looking for the nearest motel. He sorted out enough cash for a room before entering the lobby of the Bates Motel.
[IMG]http://a.pomf.se/qeoicf.png[/IMG]
Sorry, you need to Log In to post a reply to this thread.