The following story was created by forcing myself to include ideas that people posted in a Facebook thread. These ideas are as follows:
- A teddy bear that went to Mars
- Infinite Wolves
- A girl who has access to nuclear weapons
- Sand worms from Dune
- A talking zebra lost ...
The following story was created by attempting to combine a bunch of ideas people posted on Facebook (at my request)
- Me (Cat Mercer) marrying you (Brook Jensen)
- Badgers on a honey heist
- The private lives of board game pieces when they come alive at night
- Cats vs. Ninjas
- Some story ...
A Facebook conversation between me (brwarner2) and a friend.
Alex Mark: >I look around me.
brwarner2: You see only lemons
Alex Mark: >How many lemons?
brwarner2: You count a bunch of lemons, almost lose count and go back to double check. This keeps happening, and every time you get a ...
Fuck you, Universe. Fuck you.
I know you've given me chances,
And I know I haven't taken them.
I know sometimes I've thought instead of acting,
Or acted without thinking.
Hell, I've even made acts on ill thoughts.
But this? This?
This isn't punishment, this ...
The general, startled by the sudden and unexpected intrusion, tried to swallow his food whole and stand to attention. A wad of the bread, however, became stuck in his throat causing him to cough twice in vain. He began bashing his hand against his thick metal chestplate in an ...
If it works out, then it must have been fate.
If it didn't, it wasn't.
But what if it works out, and then it doesn't?
Well then all along it wasn't;
Wasn't meant to work out.
But what about now? What about when it's ...
"Hey John, thanks for taking the time to talk."
"Oh sorry, bad reception. One sec..."
"Can you hear me now?"
"Well it's Rachel."
"No things are fine. I mean, okay not... not so fine."
"She just - she just wants me to call less."
You gave me life.
You gave me a wife.
You granted my youth praise.
You made hours seem like days.
You gave hindsight to my mistakes.
You gave me time to heal my aches.
And the moments, one-by-one, slipped away...
And the moments, one-by-one, ripped away...
We met at the bar just outside my flat.
He was old, definitely very old; I remember that for certain. Not just his skin or his complexion, but very much in the eyes as they seemed... worn. Before we even spoke I knew there was something distinguishing about him, that ...
Today I begin with a grave confession. These tales I've shared around the table, these parables of love, hate, and loss are fabrications. They're harvested, constructed, manufactured, advertised, and sold by my mind. They're simple wordcraft performed on a grain of truth lost in a beach of ...