Justine Hood

Sean King

Ben Syverson

Macaroni Dots

Sam Becker

Benjamin Chandler

English

It was morning, I was ready for my breakfast. I went to the fridge, got two eggs, some bacon and a slice of bread. I turned on the stove, and just when I was ready to crack one of the eggs I heard a small voice..”DON’T EAT ME!”

I looked around confused and scared because I thought I was in the house alone. I looked down at my hands only to see my almost-cracked egg with a petrified face. I stood there with the strongest dumbfounded look on my face. "I must be trippin', bro." I put the egg on the counter

The egg leapt up to the top of the sugar jar, then yelled. "Hey bro! You know that person in the horror movie who's always actin' dumb? The one you're yelling at to get out of that house? That's you right now, bro!" I gasped, and rubbed my eyes. The egg was just

sitting there judging me. “I’m listening,” I said, picking the egg up and placing it on my shoulder, “walk with me.” The egg and I traded some fast, witty dialogue that would have made Sorkin smile, then clap, then weep with envy. “In any case, we’re going to need alfalfa. Lots.”

They walked some more until they spotted a bunch of alfalfa, sitting on a bunch of dried leaves. “Something doesn’t look right..”, said the egg, with sweat dripping on its eggshell forehead. There seemed to be metal underneath, almost invisible to see under the alfalfa.

The egg bent over and began frantically wiping away the leaves revealing a plaque—HERE LIES THE ORIGINAL OVUM it stated above the year: 1588. "Pepaw!" the time-traveling egg cried as a coconut fell from above pushing its sweaty face to the ground. "I tried," it wept. "I tried."

Shell Shocked

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What will

“Alright team,” the captain said, making it clear with two words that she had elected herself captain and no one else was even close to being in consideration. “We have a lot of work to do. Right now this party barge is neither a party nor a barge.” Elise raised her hand. “Yes?”

"Would you, Captain, call it a soiree canoe? How about a celebration raft? A jamboree kayak? No?" The captain grimaced and said "get the plank!"

The pirates hooted and hollered as the plank was laid, its far end teasing doom. "I don't really have to, do I?" I asked. "Yep," said the Cap'n. "You made 'Oops All Crunchberries', you walk the plank." "But, Cap'n!" I protested, "I'm allergic to shark bites & jellyfish stings!"

“Not my problem, mate!” The Cap’n snickered with a sinister smirk nestled in his disarrayed beard. “Walk the plank… else Jack here ‘ll help ye along!”

“Fuck you.” I said, and i farted out into the sky. “Black magic!!” The Captain scoffed, “shoot him with the cannons!”. I grabbed a green hat out of my ass, and put it on my head! The crocodiles watched in awe, with their jaws wide open.

“I am your lizard king!” I exclaimed and dove into the water, joining my reptile brethren. Before fully submerged I lashed my tongue out, knocking the captain off balance. She grasped futilely toward the plank before falling off the ship into a crowded sea of hungry, sharp maws.

To Those Who Are About to Croc: We Salute You

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Diana Tobey

“Destiny? What does destiny have to do with it?” asked the man in the suit. “I just want my cut of twenty-five million dollars. What you do with the painting, or how important it makes you feel is beside the point.”

"I'm all about those Ben-ja-miiiiiiins!" He sang in a falsetto. Then he put out one hand and raised an eyebrow. "Make with the moulah, mon frere!"

I looked at the wad of cold hard cash clenched in my hand. I thought of making rent for the first time in months, even paying some of debt off, but I couldn’t shake the memory of

my granddad sticking two wires into an outlet to turn his janky-ass window AC on or off. I pulled the white pages out of my bag and started flipping. Bingo. “Cool Guys AC & Heating.” Just two blocks away, but on a dangerous side of the street.

We called it the dangerous side of the street because it was dangerous. What made it dangerous was that every yard was infested with copperheads other poisonous snakes. We don't know why they all congregated there, but granddad said it was because of a local radio tower, WSNK.

“Thanksss for tuning into W-esss-NK,” boomed the radio tower. “Rise limbless friends,” the serpentine DJ implored. “Now!” I yelled to grandad, who threw a match in the field to start the snake BBQ. A collective hiss could be heard for miles around. “Finally did it,” he replied.

Reservoir Snakes

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Logan Pengelly

Caz Sand

Rietje Becker

As you look at new apps for TikTok in the App Store you find a interactive story app named Untitled

Is the Name of this Game. It was free, so I downloaded it and gave it a shot. My phone made a series of whistles and popping sounds, then the screen cycled through primary colors. “Let’s begin” whispered a voice behind me.

… A hoarse and guttural voice that sounded in a way, child like. I turned my head but no one was there.
Suddenly, a notification from the app appeared on the screen.
I tapped on it and

my phone made a buzzing sound, then went dark. I put it in my pocket with sweaty hands and paced down the street, shoulders hunched. I heard the voice again. “Stop following me!” I screamed. Just then I felt my phone getting hot in my pocket. It burned as I fumbled to find it.

I grabbed and threw it down. As it hit the floor it spun around, grew larger and grew a face. “Think you can get rid of me that easily?” The phone said with a grin. “What?” I fumbled. “Are you the voice that’s been talking me to me?”

"I sure have," said the phone. "I'm just so, so lonely." I took pity on it then. I picked the phone up & cradled it in my hands. "I'll be your friend," I said. "Oh!" sighed the phone, "Companionship at last!" I swiped away its face to find the apps. "You got Candy Crush, though?"

LOOK AT THE APP IN THE APP STORE

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Where am I? Is this a sidewalk I'm lay on? It's cold stone. I can't open my eyes. I try to recall previous events of the day... or of any time - there is nothing. I try my eyes again, they're gritty, salty but I open one. I'm on a sandstone building ledge, high above busy streets

Slowly I open the other eye and carefully pull myself up to a sitting position, my arms propping the weight of my body up. I see the hustle and bustle of the busy streets below me, but hear nothing.

He doesnt feel anything either, and slowly his vision fades away.. and then his form is slowly floated to the top, where god sits on his couch with a newspaper. When the kids body stops, a ding is heard, and god clicks his fingers.

“Hey-ooo Buster, your turn with the Almighty. What have you always wanted to know?” asked Notorious G.O.D. “Yes! Why does anyone have to suffer? If death is part of the plan, why does it hurt so much? Are we alone in the universe?” The big guy sighed. “It’s a mystery, kiddo.”

God - what a jerk

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Lynsie Lucas

She looked down at the list—half the names had already been crossed off.

“Typical”, she said. “You only come to me when the problem is completely out of control!” She started gathering her supplies: an ultraviolet flashlight, a travel chemistry set, a crossbow, and sharpie markers in 5 different colors. “You drive!”

“I don’t have a license” she looked at me with disappointed eyes…”we are in the middle of an apocalyptic caos, do you really think a cop will pull you over and ask for your license?”…three minutes later I was trying to explain that same thing to the cops.

"This is for speeding," the cop said, handing me a ticket, "I'll look past the," but suddenly his top half was gone, replaced with a line of massive teeth and purple feathers. The head of the T-Rex cocked back and roared. Things had definitely gone from bad to worse.

"At least this rex has feathers," I said. "Scientifically accurate," added the cop's partner. "Well," I said, "it's possible rexes were too massive to have a heavy coat, like how elephants have hair, but it's too sparse to see—" I didn't get to finish because the T. rex ate me.

"Well," I thought to myself as I slid, high on adrenaline and semi-mangled with various missing (or nearby) appendages, down the beast's gullet - a sensation not entirely dissimilar to removing a warm snot-marinated wetsuit during a vehicle collision, "I wasn't expecting that"!

Pedants for Breakfast in the Apocalypse

C. S. Lytal

Sunny Anomaly

Grims Grigglesby hated space travel. It wasn't just the constant queasy grav orientation adjustments - just when you'd convinced your body up was still up and down was still down you transferred to a platform where down was now sideways and who even knew where up was - it was the

worst way to begin a diet of prepackaged squeezable foods. It was, however, the only way to earn the big bucks as an asteroid miner. What Grims hated about space travel quickly faded away with thoughts of cold drinks on the beaches back on Voluptatem Mundo. He fired up his laser

thermo sinks feeling the low vibe as they began pulling in the dark matter coolants. The spectro gridder took a second to identify everything within the local volume worth a melt, flicking it up on the overhead - green points in the void as usual but one showed as a deep orange,

which was especially perplexing. As far back as I could remember, this screen had only ever showed green on black. Orange was new. It was concerning. I thumbed through the papers on my clipboard, finding nothing of use. Sighing, I grabbed the giant tome of a manual from the desk.

No chapter on color, no listing in the index for “color”, “orange”, or even “green”. I flipped to the intro, which read: “your Computon 4500 XR comes with a green light CRT monitor.” So why was it now orange?

I feverishly typed EXIT before something stranger happened. The monitor began cycling through a rainbow of colors as the fans whirred. I pushed my chair back right before the explosion. Through cracks in the glass I read the cryptic text: don't ever paint me into a corner again.

A Minor Miner Problem

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You could tell from the way she picked up the weights that she was certain she was going to win this tournament. The audience seemed to agree right up until the moment something truly shocking happened.

The weight slipped from her hand, rolled across the floor and stopped at the feet of a fellow competitor. The audience gasped. The competitor, a man named Birch (because even as a baby his legs were dense like trees), picked it up and brought it to her. Their eyes locked.

“You’re respectability ripped, Miss.” he said as he handed her weight back. “Good luck in the lift-a-thon.” Then he winked and walked back to his spot.

"I don't believe in luck," she snarled. "I've got mad skillz." She hefted her weights & twirled them like a baton. Everyone in the room ran in fear of her losing her grip, envisioning the barbells flying & cracking someone's skull, but she never did. She truly had mad skillz.

Birch approached her. “Listen Birdie, I had an idea.” And the rest is history. They launched their comedy/powerlifting podcast “Weight, Weight, Don’t Tell Me” a month later. But that wasn’t even the most amazing thing to happen at the Lift-a-thon, because Tiny Tina was up next.

The crowd hushed as Tina skipped onto the platform wearing a chartreuse tutu, rainbow leotard, and a sparkling tiara. Eyelids fluttering, his bronzed 450lb bulk stood solid ready to deadlift over twice his own weight in metal. Silk gauntleted fists clenched, he readied himself...

Worth the Weight

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LifezVictory

Invisiladd

"The train approaching platform 5 is not for human use; please do not attempt to board this train."

"Oh, that's cool." I reply with a smile. "I'm not human, anyway." I wait, counting the seconds in my mind, for the astounded reaction of my guide.

"It's true", I said, "I come from a middle sized planet that orbits the star you call Alpha Centauri." Then I peeled off my human mask to reveal

my true face. Everyone around me erupted into laughter. "Why does my visage cause this?" I asked. "Dude looks like a butt," crowed a passerby. "What is a butt?" I asked. "Um," my friend hesitated, "the part of the body that we sit on." The passerby added, "It also makes dookie!"

My face then distorted and opened up. I launched shit all over the dinner table and those making fun of me. I went up to my room where I cried from my singular eye/rectum. I enter my balcony and jump.

But, as I tumbled through the air, I suddenly realized with perfect clarity that my eye was not a rectum—that was just a metaphor for toxic masculinity. “Of course!” I laughed. Unfortunately, my jump was all too real. I died as I lived: embarrassed about the mess I was leaving.

Do You Even Dookie, Bro?

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Wish Masterz

bububroady channel

Leyre Garcia

"Well, that's that," I said, letting the shovel fall to the ground. "What now?"

After my comment of "What now?" The man didn't even peep a word.
The silence was deafening to me.Looking over at the man for a response, I arch an eyebrow. My foot impatiently tapping as I continue to wait for a response.

“Never mind” I said with my hand on my head. Distraught, I walked down the road, with the man behind me, silent. I looked around me as I could see the cold, desolate landscape around me. I could see one story shacks that looked as if I was in Compton.

I approached those huts, the man was still behind me, I could hear his sighs close to me, I felt him close to me, I felt fear close to me. I stood in front of the huts, the man stopped in front of me, "I feel your fears in your eyes" he said as he stared at me.

“It’s not fear, it’s irritation!” I snapped. “For the last time, stop following me! I’m sick of your constant shuffling and sighing. Just… don’t you have friends? A hobby? Go away!”

A low shudder sucked the air from my lungs. My follower shrunk inward unnaturally, then exploded in size, her old skin falling from the sky to reveal her true form: a giant; a fairy; a blacksmith. “Little person,” her voice boomed. “You will follow me now.”

The Final Follower

Timothy Johnson

Jesse Curry

Brian Bemiller

Chris Ehemann

Fra Valsecchi

Davis JR

Adam Baldwin

Vance Faulkner

Becky Carlson

It is a natural and unavoidable phenomenon that all sprints—no matter their scope nor intensity—come to an end. We, the agile, dash through the same valley, toward the same goal, carrying the same torch. None of us as keenly aware of this fact as our commander-in-beef, Brigor.

In the plains of northern Ohio, dwelt a grill-master of great brio. The cows that eat grass, must look after their ass, lest they fall victim to the BBQ maestro.

With a sprinkle of rub and a dollop of sauce, the BBQ Maestro showed why he's the boss. No sooner did meat touch his burning hot grill than a noise came from afar most awful and shrill. He tried to ignore it, he did try his best, but the sound was so bad his meats could not rest.

Once the BBQ temp hit 350, he closed the lid and turned his attention to the screams in the distance. As he was removing his shoes to minimize the sound of his footsteps among the trees, he saw a flash out of the corner of his eye. Frozen with fear he muttered, "it can't be"

Startled, the BBQ maestro fell cheeks-first on the burning hot grill. After only a few seconds, natterns were permanently seared onto his seat. Brigor rushed to the rescue, quickly pulling the maestro back to his feet. "I have thick legs" uttered the silver-backed man-ape...

"Holdonasecond.YOU CAN TALK" said the BBQ maestro to the ape, noticing indeed its thick legs. "Am I dreaming? Did apes always have such GREAT hair? Why is my bottom burning so much?!Where are we going?!". And shortly after found himself sitting on a branch on a very tall tree.

Bemillionaire Brigor couldn't be bothered to answer the panicked inquiries and flicked a few Sellys at the maestro to calm his yammering. Brigor was (fashionably) late for his tailor appointment to design a new thiccc boy suit inspired by Lineup's latest big-time customer signing

Brigor's new suite was a big hit. He got used to strangers approaching him out of the blue with compliments on its unorthodox style or uncanny fit. That's why her slight caught him off guard. But the sting of its sarcasm evaporated with the sight of her slender figure.

Barbara was a striking woman with an ease about her that captivated Brigor. When he was in her presence everything else would fade away, transporting him to a place where only the two of them existed. She was his whole world and all that mattered was that he win her heart.

Seared Memories

"I'm going to tell you my secret shame. I get Kool and the Gang mixed up with Earth, Wind, and Fire. And vice-versa. All the time." I blushed. "They've threatened to kick me off the roller disco team over this."

“Ma’am, CDs are 50% off, aisle 3,” said the clerk. He seemed too young to know what CDs were, but 50% off was a bargain! Joining the roller disco team was the best thing to ever happen to me. Quickly, I bought every Kool and the Gang and Earth, Wind, and Fire album I could find.

I even decided to grab some My Chemical Romance for those old-school emo days, and a bunch of early Now That’s What I Call Music volumes for nostalgia’s sake. At 50% off, and with CDs going obsolete, the surprising grand total for my fat stack of discs was only

3.45$. I was bored as I looked around the old CD store. “How are you doing?” I asked the cashier. “Good”. I took the CDs and walked out of the store. I could see the old style, Victorian buildings tower over me 3 stories as I walked down the sidewalk.

I rifled through the albums in my bag, tall buildings looking over me. “Barb Springfield,” “Sonny Brown,” “Dirk Doonesbury”—all first editions. I’d made out like a bandit but would I get away with it? I looked over my shoulder, clutching my Discman, before ducking into an alley.

I fumbled a Stacy Needborough CD out of its case and hit play, letting the words wash over me. “Can’t get nuff even if ya got nuff.” As the sitar solo swelled, I began freestyle rapping, eyes closed. By the time I opened them, a crowd had gathered, awed. That was the beginning.

You Can't Spell Disco without C D

People trust me with their secrets—but they shouldn't.

I guess I have one of those trustworthy faces, or I'm good at making comforting small talk. People meet me and they just start telling me everything. It's very profitable.

I know it's not very cool of me to profit off of people's inner feelings, but what else can I do? Talking with people is the only thing I'm good at. And hey, if they didn't want that stuff out there they should have wrote it in a diary or something rather than telling me.

What am I doing? I should stop telling the misfortunes of others to others, in the end that the one who will feel worse is me, but it is impossible not to say it!

I finally decided to call up Georgia and tell her I’m sorry. She of course met me with a disgruntled tone and hung up. Fine, in that case I will never speak again to anyone about anything. If only that would be possible, everyone knows I can’t shut up.

I tried to put it out of my head. A few weeks and some bad behavior later, I felt the need to connect. I texted once, then I’d check regularly to see if there was a response. There wasn’t. Then, 2 days later, I saw it. I waited with my heart in my throat. 

Georgia: …

No trust

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Unknown ...

Juan Sebastián Escobar

There once was a girl. A girl who was just 16 years old. She was walking home alone, all she could her is her charm bracelet moving around as she kept picking up her phone. She heard only a couple cars driving by. She was a bit alarmed, she had the thoughts of someone watching...

She turned around looking back, and saw a man getting out of his car, she was very scared, she didn't know what to do at that moment. This man was coming towards her, he was getting closer and closer.

She tried without success to surpass him, he finally got to her and said with an empty voice: "Good morning, would you like to learn about God today?". She didn't know how she felt, it was a mix of relief and annoyance, mostly the second. Then the Jehovah's witness ...

coughed and said "Excuse me, I misspoke. Would you like to learn about Dog today? They are furry and playful and fun. Some can fetch, some can herd sheep, some can lead the blind, and some even help firefighters. Would you like to know more?"

I furrowed my brow and bit my lip. Every bone in my body was telling me to get the hell out of there, but I couldn’t fail this mission. I sucked in a breath of air and said, “Yes, the Dog. That’s what I’m looking for. Now show me to the back.”

The bouncer in the red leather jacket turned her back to me. "This way," she said over her shoulder, leading me down a damp hallway with flickering lights. "Doubt we have what you're looking for." Before we got to the back a door burst open and something slobbered on my face.

Pickles, my childhood golden retriever. But how could it be? I turn around and to my utter disbelief there are hundreds more! I glance at the menacing lady in red and whistled a tune from memory. Within moments she was overrun and I was back with my herd where I belong!

FEAR

I’m so tired of the rutine, doing the same job, walking on the same streets, eating basically the same. My heart is screaming for a change! An adventure, something!!!

I don’t make enough to need a tax office to file for me (ironically, the owner pays me cash), but if ya’ll need an accountant why the fuck do you need to be reminded by a man in a Statue of Liberty costume holding a big sign? Rhetorical question. Today I quit to find adventure.

There are a million costumes I can wear, and a million signs I can hold. But I really want to be a baker! I can mold flour and water into the staff of life.

I supposed, if the pay was good enough, I could wear a costume while I baked. Holding a sign would be more difficult; I might be able to use it as a cookie sheet but then no one could read it. Letters made of cookie doe, maybe?

That is what I’ll do! I get dressed into my sexy lingerie maid outfit and start mixing all of the ingredients. I then line out the cookie dough so it says, “Subscribe to my only fans”, when it is done baking on the metal sign. I shake my ass as I put it in the oven, when...

a strange man in denim overalls burst into the kitchen. “Been watching you for years,” he said. “They’re not ready,” I mumble, gesturing toward the oven. “There’s raw egg in the dough.” “My name’s Liam and I’m your only fan,” he said caressing my duster. “I’ll take the risk.”

Rising Dough

She was telling me about research her lab at MIT is conducting that shows opening microwave doors during a cycle causes our brains to be bombarded with enough electrons that we’ll forget who we are and be compelled to run away. “Don’t worry. It’s cumulative,” she said.

I chuckled nervously, thinking about my own microwave habits. I opened and shut that door so often it might as well be a screen door. “How many exposures before memory starts to be effected?” I asked, pen poised over my reporter’s notebook.

"Depends. Some people seem to be able to withstand more than others. Not sure why, but I reckon some people just got more they're eager to forget. Makes 'em easy targets."

I thought of my best friend and how she’d completely forgotten who she was after her breakup — was she the victim of one of these botched memory extractions?

They always tried to manipulate her mind, to make her feel better, they extracted from her what came to be the person who disappointed her, I suppose. Will she still have a fragment of his memory?

When the lights turned on she up got out of her chair and left the examination room. Waiting by reception was a stranger—at first. As the gap closed between them she became overwhelmed with relief. "I know you," she said through a quivering smile. "They did not steal everything."

Popcorn and Memory

emily wahl

Emma Mazzucco

“MEMORY LANE, All Trips Non-Refundable” read the sign on the door. I walked inside to find a clean white room with only a front desk, no chairs or ferns or any of the normal strip mall clutter. An old man appeared from a door just behind the front desk. “Welcome to

The Memory Lane. What brings you here, son?” I suddenly felt uneasy. What kind of name of business was this? The old man waited for an answer, but I could hardly breathe. What had taken over me? I then realized... I should not be here.

It was too late for such thoughts, of course. Whether it was right or wrong, I was there. And I was sweating.

Those thoughts were eating my head, I had to pretend to be fine to avoid attracting attention of others

It had been an hour and I was bout to cry I had to find a distraction or something I love. I went into my room and found...

my trusty diary. I quickly scanned for the date in question: August 8, 1988, the fateful night of my alien encounter. I quickly begin reading my frantic handwriting, words jumping out at me: steamy, silent, spheres of illusion. The last line written was a street address.

Damn it, was this a Tinder memory or something more? Perhaps a memory implanted by my abductors to make me doubt myself. I grabbed my jacket and hopped into my old truck, dead set on finding answers at whatever I would find waiting for me at that address.

Finally there I wasn't sure if I wanted to know what's behind the door. My legs are shaking, I'm now hoping for the implanted memory alternative. I grab the door handle, where a playful necktie is hanging, and slowly open the door, just to see what I was hoping not to see

with my unwashed eyes. My grade school sweetheart and my college best friend were playing two-person twister right there on the living room floor. They were both reaching for red when I fainted onto the beanbag chair.

Memory Lane

Quinn Tracey

Jordan S

Annabelle annabellechase333@gmail.com

Madeline sat in the meadow behind Hempstead Place, the delicate pattern of her summer dress lost completely in wildflowers. Father had explained Mr. Rathford was due to stop by for tea and to discuss real estate and she didn’t want to appear overly eager to see him again.

But her father could tell she was interested in Mr. William Rathford, despite their significant age difference- about 35 years. Maddie (as most of those around her called her) didn't care about the age difference at all, Mr. Rathford always showed up with beautiful gifts for her.

So what if he was 18 and she was 52? They made each other happy. Maddie had searched for the perfect man for decades. Now she had the chance to mold the perfect man from this teenage boy.

But he had to come clean. He couldn't lie to Maddie anymore. "Maddie?" He shouted. "I'm... not 18. I'm actually 1.8 - There was a typo on Tinder profile." Maddie didn't care. Besides - Age is just a number, isn't it?

Maddie didn’t care. “I don’t care. I’ve loved you since I saw you read your History report in front of the class 2 years ago.” She smiled shyly. He looked down at his feet and fell silent.

Moments passed—he reached into his pocket, pulled out a cootie catcher, and carefully unfolded it. Too bashful to speak, he handed it to Maddie who read aloud, “The only history that matters is the day we met. You are my Alamo, my Bill of Rights, my Tea Party rolled into one.”

Senseless Sensibilities

Once upon a time in a isolated island, where a small but prosperous kingdom existed, there was a king who was a kindhearted man, everybody loved him, except one person...

a grumpy old man who worked as a carpenter for his majesty, he usually dreamed of making use of his ancient craft to get revenge from the King he knows he hate, but doesn't remember why. One night, after dinner, an idea came to his head ...

The royal carpenter went into town and bought all the necessary supplies: twine, beeswax, two springs, and arsenic. That irritating, unjust king was going to get what was coming to him, and the princess too!

It would look like a beautiful cuckoo clock, but it would shoot a poison pellet into their mouths at the stroke of midnight.

it was an extremely unorthadox way to murder someone, but that also meant it would be less likely for the cops to find the one responsible for commiting the crime.

Perfect genius, if I do say so myself. And to take things just a step further, I pulled some strings with my buddy at the local donut shop. Any time the cops got close, he’d call the precinct and tell them they’d won free donut day. Needless to say, we were never discovered.

Carpenter’s revenge

The accident wasn't Meredith's fault but it was just easier for everyone to blame her.

After all, Meredith constantly had conflicts with Rose, and her fatal and tragic accident was very close to the place where they had their last discussion, in front of all of us.

Was it an accident? Or was it murder? I tossed and turned all night, replaying my interactions with Meredith and Rose. Suddenly, I remembered

a crucial fact. Rose was allergic to watermelon! So why would she be in a melon field in the first place? Very suspicious indeed.

It was possible that these were a different kind of melon to the one that made her skin itch and her throat close, but Rose doubted it. With her luck they were definitely watermelons, so she'd need to be very careful.

She took a small nibble. Whatever it was, it was pretty tasty. Another nibble. Like a refreshing splash of water, light with a sweet flavor. She paused and instinctively grabbed her phone, going straight to the contact with a watermelon emoji for the name. “Me again,” she said.

Cause of Death: Watermelon

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I never thought this day would come...a strange disease has spread throughout the entire world. People is being held in quarantine facilities to avoid exposure. Food and water are limited, even toilet paper, who would thought of that!

Not seeing the people you love the most, it was very hard, you could only see them by video call, all this was a nightmare

then suddenly Oculus came out with the new Qwest so I had to use that but my Facebook got shut down so it didn't work

It turned out I was happier without facebook. I traded my smartphone in for a flip phone. I traded my playstation in for some board games. I started going outside. I joined a volleyball league and took a cooking class. I grew a mustache and started saying "groovy" all the time.

Little did I know, that this was because I'd contracted a severe case of Oldtimidus. I was quarantined with my flip phone and boardgames for a month while I died a slow, painful and lonely death. Don't let the same happen to you! Embrace this generation and its amenities!

I paged the beeper of my old pal Bert. When he pulled up in his Dodge Stratus I knew that stepping into his car meant leaving behind contemporary culture and going whole hog on the past. I looked at Bert’s pine-scented air freshener with great comfort and opened the door.

Quarantine

Today is the cheerleading tournament. I am so nervous! I know we practiced a lot...the jumps, the dance...the moves...but still I can’t feel at ease. If we win this we will be able to go to the finals in Whynot, NC, I am so excited!

Me and the girls are walking to the event, what a beautiful day! the sun is reflecting on the roofs, flowers seem more alive than any other day, it feels like the whole world knew this is an important day. We are chatting and laughing when suddenly I get a call.

Byline

A multiplayer creative writing app. Add to a story knowing only the previous line.

A multiplayer creative writing app where stories are built line by line. One author adds to a story knowing only what the previous author wrote.

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