The office break room was more crowded than usual. Molly sidestepped the group of colleagues standing around the water cooler and made her way to the fridge. She searched the fridge for her leftovers in vain. “Hey! Who ate my pasta!” Molly shouted accusingly.

The Montblanc villagers were now searching around the village, flipping many a barrel and a table, to try to find any clues to Santa's secret identity so they could get the giant teddy bear. The Christmas spirit was back in the form of a mystery that they could bond over.

After finding himself isekai'd into a version of Earth where dinosaurs lived alongside humans, John still had bad luck thanks to the dino-god of unluckiness. Case-in-point: he was now face-to-face with another person in his house who claimed that HE was John. Identity theft.

Peter Pop painfully picked powerful peppers, panting & perspiring. As the narrator it's my duty to inform you, fellow writer, that Peter was cursed to live a life ruled by sentences primarily consisting of words starting in P. He longed to be free from this nightmarish curse.

The drone of the meeting grew numb; sales were down - complaints were on the rise. Who wasn't aware? The memory of last night invaded. It was strange how fate could manipulate a person. But indeed, it had. In the end, he was left unscathed. Unlike John. John had been unlucky.

The machine factory smells of oil and a white burning alcohol scent. The hum-hiss-hum of the machinery is soothing. The clapping of steel boots on steel floors. It is grounding. Is is comforting. This is physical sensation of purpose, she thought.

Katie was a nice girl. She wasn’t like the other miscreants in this awful place. She was only stuck here because she’d made a single, terrible mistake. Katie McClure was not supposed to be here.

Jerry glanced down at the photograph in his hand, then back up again at the woman sitting alone at the back of the cafe.