Stuck In Traffic

Mie Kjerulff

Jim had just picked up Tina from work and they were snailing their way through the late afternoon traffic. Even with the windows rolled all the way down the car was like an oven. Jim was daydreaming of getting home, grabbing a cold beer and throwing himself on the couch to watch the playoffs.

“I want a divorce,” Tina suddenly declared from the passenger seat.

Jim stared fixedly out of the windshield, at the car in front of them. He wasn’t sure if he had heard her correctly. He couldn’t have. They had been married neigh on 16 years. People didn’t just get divorced out of the blue from someone they had been married to for 16 years. He had definitely heard her wrong.

“Jim, are you listening to me?” She had turned towards him in her seat. “I want a divorce.”

He looked out the window at the oncoming…

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Changes


Cursing softly as the doorbell rang, Christopher sent a quick prayer upwards that it wasn’t yet another charity organisation. Ever since he’d won those fifty millions, so much had changed. One of the changes that he could have been without was people asking for money.

It wasn’t like he was against the idea of giving back. He’d actually started his own charity organisation since he’d won, but by now he was just sick and tired of people telling him that he was a bad person if he didn’t also give to their organisation. Like he was some sort of horrible human being just because he didn’t give to everyone who asked. Like distant relatives and old classmates.

Continue reading Changes

Death Becomes Her

Hi everyone!
Sorry for the lack of update this week, but as I’ve been working over 50 hours this week, I haven’t been able to find the time 🙂
I can’t promise you one next week either, as I’ll be off for vacation, but I’ll try my best! 😆

But here’s a repost of a flash fiction for all of you to enjoy 😊

My Own Little Corner

She woke up, her eyes puffy and dry. She had to blink multiple times before being able to keep them open. She didn’t move. She simply stared upward at the ceiling fan as it rushed by. Her eyes tried to follow it as if it would come to an end soon, but couldn’t keep up.

Turning on her side, she saw the impressions left behind from Jack. He didn’t usually sleep with her, but last night he had. Pausing one last time, she hesitantly sat up and let her feet dangle off the side of the bed. Looking down at her bare legs she saw the remnants of tragedy. She had grown thin and she had no color anywhere on her body. Her skin matched one that would be found inside a morgue.

“Clara?” It was Jack downstairs. She smelled the no doubt delicious breakfast being made specifically for her…

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I Got No Talent To Be Heart-Broken

A/N: Okay, so I read all these poems online about being heart-broken, and I figured it would be funny to write a poem about the exact opposite of that. 

Enjoy!

 


I got no talent to be heart-broken,

And I’m told that that is wrong.

But crying my heart out over some guy,

– It simply isn’t done.

 

I wonder if something is wrong with me,

Since it’s so easy to just let go.

While others hold on with all they have,

Still caught in the afterglow.

 

But once I see that something is bad,

It’s quite easy to simply escape.

One realisation is all I need,

And I am gone, going away.

 

For this heart isn’t made for breaking,

And these eyes aren’t meant to cry.

That is why no tears are flowing.

As I here tell you – “Goodbye.”

 


 

Complaints

“I want to make a complaint!”

The receptionist turned towards the man with an hidden sigh. She’d known that this guest would be trouble from the moment she’d laid eyes on him, and it appeared that she hadn’t been wrong. What a shame.

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” she said. “Is something the matter with the room?”

“Yes!”

She waited for a continuation, but none seemed forthcoming.

“May I ask what?”

“Everything!”

Continue reading Complaints

PTSD


He’s at home in his bed,

His wife at his side.

But he finds himself in battle,

As he opens his eyes.


The enemy is upon them,

His friends are all dying.

So he fights with all he has,

While his insides are crying.


There! Don’t you see?!

An enemy to his side!

So he raises his gun,

And he shoots the damn guy!


A scream pulls him back,

And he sees what he’s done.

He’s back in his kitchen,

Where he just shot his own son.




A/N: If interested then the following link is to a website where you can make a donation to help soldiers dealing with PTSD:

http://ptsdusa.org/support-u/make-a-donation/

Are you black with white stripes? Or white with black stripes?

Just thought I should share this lovely poem with you guys 🙂

Zebra are so photogenic, I think it is their stripes that make them so. I love this poem by Shel Silverstein (1) about the age old question regarding their stripes.

Zebra question

I asked the zebra
Are you black with white stripes?
Or white with black stripes?
And the zebra asked me,
Or you good with bad habits?
Or are you bad with good habits?
Are you noisy with quiet times?
Or are you quiet with noisy times?
Are you happy with some sad days?
Or are you sad with some happy days?
Are you neat with some sloppy ways?
Or are you sloppy with some neat ways?
And on and on and on and on
And on and on he went.
I’ll never ask a zebra
About stripes
Again.

Back to the question

A zebras coat is black with white stripes – black is the actual color of the…

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