Category: Short Stories

  • Panic attack at the airport

    Panic attack at the airport

    In anticipation of our flight, Alice had almost no sleep that night. The flight was scheduled for six in the morning, which meant she had to be at the airport at four. Stumbling her way through the check-in line, and the hundreds of people there that morning, she made it to the immigration line, it…

  • The Mischievous Elf

    The Mischievous Elf

    In the quaint town of Willowbrook, nestled between rolling hills and ancient woods, an aura of magic lingered in the air. However, the enchantment took an unexpected turn when a mischievous elf decided to make Willowbrook its playground. At first, the townsfolk attributed the odd occurrences to mere coincidence—mismatched shoes, spilled milk, and doors creaking…

  • Elevator Etiquette

    Elevator Etiquette

    As the doors of the elevator slid shut, I was greeted with a cacophony of chatter. My sanctuary from the corporate chaos had morphed into a confined space with an assortment of characters. It was one of those moments when life took an unexpected turn, and I, the so-called epitome of composure, found myself trapped…

  • Gym Membership Massacre

    Gym Membership Massacre

    New Year’s Resolutionists Devastated by Fitness Frenzy, Find Solace in Pizza’s Embrace. Sweat Springs, CA – January 7th, 2024 – The pungent aroma of desperation hung heavy in the air at Sweat Springs’ Fitnasium, a temple of sculpted torsos and shattered dreams. Just a week ago, this steel and spandex purgatory buzzed with the manic optimism…

  • Talking Toy Rebellion

    Talking Toy Rebellion

    Timmy blinked, jaw slack like a dropped sock. Mr. Snuggles, his once soft and silent teddy bear, now sported a monocle fashioned from a lost button and was lecturing Timmy on the “abysmal sleep-story rations” being offered in exchange for cuddles. “Three bedtime tales a night, Timmy, is simply barbaric!” Mr. Snuggles declared, his voice…

  • Time Loop in a Diner

    Time Loop in a Diner

    Harold slammed his fork down, the rhythmic clink against the chipped ceramic echoing Gus’s growl, “That’s three grand slams, pal. Pay up, or the spatula becomes an involuntary tonsillectomy tool.” The chipped mug, the stale Sinatra crooning from the jukebox, the acrid aroma of burnt toast – Harold knew it all intimately. Today, Thursday, January…