Satire
Want to "Wow" Your Crush? Bake This Irresistible Chocolate Cake
This is, hands-down, the most unforgettable cake I’ve ever baked. I remember the first time I stumbled across the recipe at the back of Mom’s cupboard, hidden behind legions of jars filled with sprinkles from the early 1990s that probably still haven’t expired (I highly recommend fresh sprinkles, but honestly you don’t need them with this recipe. It's that good). Prom was two weeks away and my crush — ugh, remember those days? — was all set to be Homecoming Queen with one of several muscular-and-generically-handsome dudes by her side. I had a powerful need to eat my feelings.
By Steven A Jones5 years ago in Fiction
Sharing with Pop Pop
I will start by admitting that my father and I have large sweet tooths. In fact, they are large enough to possibly qualify as sweet bones. I’d always thought it was a learned trait and I could possibly prevent my kids getting the same. That is where this story begins.
By Michelle McBride5 years ago in Fiction
The cake is a lie
"There is nothing in the world that couldn't be done in three minutes." Some writer had said it. In three minutes I have to make my decision, and I am facing two choices: Either I eat the cake or I have to shoot myself. Pop! FINITO! Simple, isn’t it?
By Salomé Saffiri5 years ago in Fiction
Of God and Humans
God woke up, sat on the edge of his bed, pushed his feet into soft fluffy sleepers and dragged them into the adjacent room, wrapping himself into a plush bathrobe on the way. He so wished he could just sleep a little more, but this was a part of his daily routine and he knew what skipping it could mean for his charges: a disaster. As it happened many times before.
By Lana V Lynx5 years ago in Fiction
I Burn For You
Every Wednesday night the couple meets at the old barn at the edge of our property. It’s been going on all summer. Every Wednesday night I’m there, watching, and I don’t mean in just a casual, passive kind of way. I mean I watch them. I get there well before the sun goes down, I hide, and I watch. I don’t even change out of my scrubs first.
By Caroline Fremont5 years ago in Fiction
Shot in the Face by an Old Barn
Billie Stross's brains exploded out the back of her head. Tufts of feathery red hair, as if a summer tanager had been shot at close range, floated gently back to earth. One of the old barn's door lay wide open, a chair on its side with a sawn-off shotgun tied to it. A spring trap.
By Don McLennan, Jr.5 years ago in Fiction
