[x]

The Business of Murder"Well, now that we're through with the pleasantries, Mr. Daniels, I must ask: Why is it that you want to die?"

Joseph Daniels sighed and slumped down in his seat, the picture of unkemptness. His face looked tired, with large bags underneath his eyes and at least three days' worth of stubble. His hair was a mess, his clothes were disheveled. He seemed to exude an aura of despair.

He surveyed the room he was in, which was quite his opposite: neat, orderly, unremarkable. Blank, white walls, some filing cabinents, three windows looking out on downtown. He was sitting in a plain, wooden chair in front of a plain, wooden desk with merely a fake h

By ThursdayBY THURSDAY!
A Dark and Absurd Comedy of the Office World in One Act

Characters
Joseph M. Conrad……………………………high-strung new employee
Sir……………………………………………………CEO of GloboStaple
Bill from Accounting…………………………………Conrad’s coworker
Jane from Advertising……………………………………………ice queen

Setting

A typical office building in NYC; specifically, an

orthography and the right to remain silenti know just how i left you,
and i pray to god,
the same one you do each day,
that you're still as
sore,
stubborn,
and stuck
as you were
when you fled
like floodwater
to georgia.

the pile of unread books
still sit on the righthand side
of the coffee table.

i think,
but i can't be sure.

maybe they're on the left;
or even worse,
maybe they're on the shelf
over your television.

i don't know how fast
you've been sitting here
or how long you've been moving,
but i have places to go
and people to be,
warming the ache
like ringworm
in my stomach.

it's times like these
i pray to the god,
the same one you do each day,
th

Perfect ContritionIn a proper Catholic church, everything echoes. Any sound uttered within the building bounces of the floor and the walls and the high, vaulted ceilings, so much so that I imagine that they could easily reach the ears of God himself. It's a rather poetic thought, the voices of mere mortals ringing towards Heaven with the help of good acoustics, but that thought's tempered by the fact that it includes every single noise: the coughs of emphysemic old men, the rustling of an impatient young girl's dress, and the taps of even the softest rubber-soled sneakers are no exception. On rainy days like this one, those shoes tend to squeak, which probably

AnchorAn anchor had five minutes in which to reorient themselves. One.

I stared at the heavy steel loop around my thumb. My world was a sand castle, constructed by the subconscious in a vain hope that it would stand up on such a treacherous foundation. The ring was an unfamiliar weight and the foundation of my castle started to crumble. I did not remember it. The tide was ebbing in around my mind, whispering that my carefully imagined world was wrong. That it was lies. That the 'when' and the 'where' were pure fancy. I stirred in the nest of wires that poured information through my brain. There was a man with me, his bare back against min

ApparitionsI was nervous when I arrived. Had my information been right? Was she used to trans patients? Would she be supportive and helpful or weirded out? Would this be a waste of time or the freeing experience I hoped it would be?

I looked around the lobby. It was small and well furnished. A large coffee table occupied the center of the room, surrounded on two sides by a small sofa and an armchair, which for some reason made me think of my grandfather. On the opposite side of the room, there was a water cooler and several large unopened refill containers. On a table near the door was the item I was looking

Minotaur 1.1Death's acrid stench clung to the air around Varan. The sickly rot of infection bubbled up, oozing from his shoulder. There was nothing he could do chained to the stone wall with a guard at the door. Arrow splinters trapped in his flesh were killing him slowly.

His death should have been swift on the battlefield, but instead he was ambushed while he bathed. He'd cut down seven men before the poisoned arrow made him too weak to lift his ax. The poison wasn't lethal, unfortunately. Its purpose was to render him unconscious for interrogation.

His sire, the famous Conqueror of Brundan, must be laughing from the afterlife. Even shame failed to g

Blue BloodAt the Comte de Guise's chateau, his wife turned forty,
yet again, ape masks are all the rage, frocks hand-
stitched in Paris, linen collars which pinch the throat.
On iron gates the Comte's coat-of-arms bears the rumour:
Il faut circuler. I've just drained a cup of Methuselah,
spot Dominique, circulating, ever with a different party,
and a little further off. The chef slices a crenellated
pie from which doves scatter. How swish! a jewelled
gorilla sighs through yellow teeth. There are benches
of fried oysters, treacle tart, porridge spooned up
by a proud garçon who'll answer only Oui or Non.
Then Dominique, glowing,

The Dalzell KnockoutThe Banana Bar wasn’t Conner Dalzell’s sort of place. I was behind it slicing lemons, wincing at acid burns, when he walked in alone in a buff duffel coat. The guy was at least fifty, maybe older, his hair turning white.
Tonight was student night, all the cocktails were half price, and fresher girls were getting fresh with lecherous finalists in the faux-leather booths. Conner Dalzell stood in the doorway for half a minute and I thought he would leave. But he took off his coat and searched for a peg to hang it on. To his evident surprise, he didn't find one, so he flung it over his elbow and waddled to the bar.
“What would you recommend then?” he asked. My hands were sticky with lemon juice. I hastily wiped them on my apron.
“Our featured cocktail today is the Blue Lagoon Special: vodka, blue curacao, and white wine.”
“Sounds awful,” he said, slipping from the barstool he’d tried to mount. “What’s blue

Tea for TwoI observed her fragile corpse upon the cemetery seat, looking to and fro like a lost pigeon. She blinked her watery green eyes at me just once as I approached, then let them oggle wide.

"Madam," said I, "have you any need of assistance?"

A soft moan echoed back across the dying rhododendrons.

"Are you tired? Lost?" A quick glance at her spittle-slathered chops. "Hungry?"

She nodded vigorously and a bit of froth flew loose to stick upon a nearby leaf. I watched as it slowly slid its way to the very tip and plopped with a light "thwack" upon the freshly upturned soil.

"Er, there ought to be a dead squirrel or two out back by the fence. I i

Dixie RedNoon. It is so hot, even the roads do not want to go anywhere. The sun dominates the sky and drives everything and everyone to stay under cover. The clouds abandoned the sky sometime last night, and still do not face the sun. The hum of cicadas rubs at the air, but it is a weary sound, for the heat seems to soak into everything, even the mating dreams of insects.

Dixie Red sits on the back porch of her great-grandmother's house and smokes an illicit Marlboro. With the air so hot, it seems as though she can thrust a cigarette out through a hole in the screen to ignite it. But, no, she still needs to use the heavy, olive drab Ronson that she d

Sweetheart in A-Sharp "You're the knife."
Words. Clumsy words. Taught to me by my father, and his before, and worn into my skeleton like a bad habit. This was a bad habit, and still is.
"Be the knife."
A hoarse whisper in the dark against the swinging, hanging light. Ten competitors, thirty spectators; all losers. Two in the middle. All my life I've practiced and trained and pained for something so much greater than this. Means does indeed, unfortunately, make the man.
As I grip the soft leather of the knife handle, circa 1909, I hope these letters find you well. I hope they find me well, too, and I'm sorry for the three of us that it's come to this, c

The Courier Eirik surveyed the impressive façade of the Temple of Myralo with concern, brow furrowed, fingers worrying the loose leather strap that kept his dagger in its sheath. It was certainly a pretty building. Everywhere he looked there was beauty to behold – from the intricately detailed vine-and-leaf patterns carved into the cloud-white exterior, to the elaborate mosaic of Prismeryl, Twin Deity of Beauty dominating the archway above the temple’s entrance.
Hanging next to the ornately wrought gate into the temple’s courtyard was a “Help Wanted” sign. It, too, was beautiful, written in a light script by a steady hand, and assuring any applicants that the pay would be more than sufficient. Eirik didn’t doubt it. If there was one thing the Prismeryllian priests and priestesses were known for (and there were many things they were known for) it was being as free with their pocketbo

The nature of inspirationWhen was the last time
You heard the word 'erection' in poetry?
I think it was a while back
Between the pages
Of reform
And Odyssey.

I mean "humans" don't even play
Bogies anymore,
Or just rise to the thirteen year old tree-house
Inside us all
Where politeness is a foul facade
And we aren't afraid of our fingers.

No...
Instead
We prioritise the silhouettes
And forget
The way pressing pen into paper
Made us so
Steamy
And out of
Breath.

Inspiration isn't a pretty, pristine river...
It's magma
Flowing
With taboo,
Glowing
Like irradiated
Lemonade
And it's about time we became
Mutants too.

It's about time
We l

A Textual AnnealingA thousand thousand generations
misinterpreting the lightning,

A tumult of attempts, many
mumblings while we burn - each time
most is lost, some survives.

At the whistle of illusion that awakens,
day drops dream on me. I am
thick with swerve: If there are giants
there is a world they walk on.

And for the final faith
to be an inversion: We are
the electricity lunging toward the sky.

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More from ~PandaCat-Productions

How the Woggle lost his WooThe day the Woggle lost his Woo,
He didn't know quite what to do,
It wasn't here, it wasn't there,
It wasn't up or down the stair,
It wasn't underneath his bed,
Or hiding in the garden shed.

Poor Woggle searched all day and night,
He looked high and low and left and right,
But not a whisper did he find,
Our Woggle was in quite a bind,
Oh no, he cried, oh boo hoo hoo,
What is a Woggle without his Woo?

Without his Woo he could not sleep,
So he wandered through the jungle deep,
And called on all his monster friends,
To see if they had help to lend.

He went to see the Snigglesnout,
Who gave a roar and chased him out,
He called u

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Wavering Whimsyby ~PandaCat-Productions

Literature / Prose / Fiction / Fantasy / Short Stories

©2011-2013 ~PandaCat-Productions

This was meant to be a flash fic. Quite obviously, it is not.

This is all

's fault. Damnable zebra!

Enjoy.

(C) *PandaCat-Productions

Daily Deviation

Given 2012-01-12

Wavering Whimsy by *PandaCat-Productions Suggester Writes: One of those classic heart melting stories that leave you satisfied by the time you're finished. ( Suggested by ~EmmyIsAZebra and Featured by ^Beccalicious )

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~Gricken Jan 22, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

This story is all sorts of epic.

It is humorous, heart-warming and just plain magical! Goodness, if you weren't already engaged, I would propose to you right here right now, marry you, lock you up in a tower and make you write me stories forever.

Reply

~PandaCat-Productions Jan 26, 2012 Student Writer

Oh, oh mai. Maha, you flirt you.

Goodness, if I wasn't already engaged, (and if you were a man) I might take you up on that offer.

Reply

~Gricken Jan 27, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

I would turn into a man for you.

I would figure out how to do so first, and then Grim and I shall joust for your hand!

_{He might be bigger and stronger and more used to moving around in a man's body than I would be though. Plus, he scares me.}

Reply

~PandaCat-Productions May 23, 2012 Student Writer

You flatterer you. How splendid!

_{I would protect you from Grim. Dun worry.}

Reply

*TarienCole Jan 13, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Congrats on the DD, my friend

Reply

~PandaCat-Productions Jan 14, 2012 Student Writer

Thankies Ranger!

Reply

*TarienCole Jan 14, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

my pleasure

Reply

*TheTerrorOfTheDeep Jan 13, 2012

You're so cool.

Reply

~PandaCat-Productions Jan 14, 2012 Student Writer

I know right?

Reply

~TigerLylly Jan 12, 2012 Student General Artist

I loved this story!! I want more of it!! I wish it was a novle so it would have been longer!!

It was both heart warming and sad. It was Beautiful and the characters were well developed!

Thank you for this story!!

Reply