Robert Fever awoke on cold cement feeling like he had been run over by a car. He winced as he sat up. By the shifting light of the naked bulb that swayed above him, Robert saw that he was down in his own basement. Dusty, uninviting workout machines provided the room’s only furniture. Several campaign posters that read “CATCH THE FEVER!” in red white and blue were stacked in a corner.
A pane of glass separated us. You were out on the street and I was in a hotel lobby. You were walking by like an ivory tower on heels. Your dark brown hair fell lightly on your shoulders, your bosom bounced subtly, your hips swayed. And then you did something I never expected; you looked at me directly in the eyes, and your face lit up.
Jerry and his New Shoes
Heel-toe, heel-toe, thought Jerry as he walked down the sidewalk. His new shoes felt like cinder blocks tied to his feet. They were were shiny and black and rather handsome looking, but it wasn’t until Jerry had gotten home from buying them that he saw the soles were extremely thick–nearly three inches. Good lord, thought Jerry, I’m over six feet tall now with these shoes. He was sure that the people around him were smirking at his overcompensating footwear.
It was late in the day and golden sunlight poured into the apartment living room. Carl was sitting on the couch, idly picking near-microscopic pieces of lint from his black pants.
Birth of a Solipsist
I was on my lunch break one cold afternoon when I had life-changing realization. It hit me like a spoon that cracks an egg, and my yolk seemed to spill and fill up the world–indeed, become the world. I would apologize to you if you found my words confusing, but I don’t find them confusing myself, and in a moment you’ll see why I have no worries about being misunderstood.
Dimitri stood on a door step in a suburban neighborhood on a quiet Sunday afternoon. He pulled a piece of paper from his…
Tour De Farce
Emily had always assumed that someday she would grow to be a wise, old woman with refined tastes; as if the knowledge of fine wines and fine arts would simply come with gray hair…
There once lived a young scorpion
Who was always sick from her own poison…
Whenever she’d strike with her tail,
The back of head would get impaled.
Except where otherwise noted, the content on this site is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.