Mystery
A Slice Of Chocolate Cake Heaven
Call me eccentric if you like. Some may even call me weird. Whatever the case; I love chocolate cake. When I say I love chocolate cake, I mean I LOVE chocolate cake. Not any old chocolate cake. Not the mass-produced store-bought kind but cake created by a chef or a baker who actually cares about the ingredients and the end product. My idea of heaven is to sit at a table on a beautiful sunny day, not too hot, on a quiet street at an outdoor cafe frequented by pretty girls, at a table shaded by an umbrella with a perfect cup of coffee and a perfect slice of perfect chocolate cake.
By Michael Trigg5 years ago in Fiction
The Last Sighting of Mademoiselle Virginia
The moment that the chocolate cake was set down before her, she knew something was wrong. She could feel it in her very bones, like a deathly heat in her marrow slowly dispersing throughout the rest of her body. She didn’t want to know what was happening, but every instinct in her told her to turn her head. And she did.
By Lily Burkin5 years ago in Fiction
The Bainbridge Hills Welcome
The tinny scraping of ice against ice set Annabel's teeth into a grin. She enjoyed the manufactured sounds of happiness, they provided the perfect backdrop to the afternoon soiree she was presiding over, and people were almost done with their drinks.
By Adeleine Grubb5 years ago in Fiction
The Waiting Room
She scratched her index nail against her thumb nail impatiently. The beige walls staring at her the same way they always did, or had? She couldn't tell anymore. This was the worst part. The waiting. Nothing exciting every happened when she stared at these beige walls. To her left, four empty hard-plastic, navy blue chairs sat, the same as before. To her right, three empty chairs. Her nose twitched.
By Harrison Sissel 5 years ago in Fiction
The Good Friend
Sara had been having a really rough week, her husband had gone missing four days ago on Friday night. Sara told police that John had left the house like he had done every Friday night for the last few months, ever since he started that bowling league. He had not returned later that night like he usually did, exhausted by the frames he had played.
By Josh Jamieson5 years ago in Fiction
God's Hermitage
Whisper the truth at the heart of dawn. The science of the soul was divided. The environment is witnessing the presence of the marriage. Mother Eve's vigilance in breath. There is no appetite for the heaven and its fruits. Adam is confused between the appetite of the fruits of paradise and eve's taste. Time is idle and time is calculated in seconds. Eve wishes motherhood, embraces her menstruation with chips and leaves of paradise bushes. The air caresses the feathers and feathers of similar birds. Adam is hesitant, and bewildered by the permanence of the situation, and he called for prayer the knowledge experienced under the coming generations. Eve is in her dying hollow and the audience. Adam performs a course with rituals, praise for the existence, and the spontaneous presence of birth. So he called god, and rushed with effort, and slept in the midst of the idle time. He slept dreaming of his vigilance, he is a prayer for time to bear the name of the language of power. He woke up from his nap, and missed it with a very trembling moment of the hour, and the hour of a long day away in the age. He didn't ring the bell; he didn't alert the guards. I turned to the left and nodded to the right, whispering to the god of the dhows who is me, and what is this horizon and what is this existence. and who is going around me, and what are these crowds. I must be dreaming. He moved his hand up to see. and his hand split the sky high, and cut the cover of space, and called with his loudest voice I wish I knew the judiciary. Oh swimmer longing in my space I wish I could know my judiciary. The voice is your voice, and the talk is the talk of the crowd. Whoever hears your voice will talk to myself, and who talks to myself will talk to myself. O thing that teaches the selves, and things and repeats the groans when I come. and to whom I will be in his world and time, and since I am ego, to be revolving in circles of myself. O listener, I hear the melody of my existence, you hear the screams of my groans when you hear. I don't call you as fearless, I talk to you with my soul, and the color of my existence, and I invite you to the interview, and no competition. I invite you because I know I need you, that you know my need. But when you left me in a state of my absence. I feel, and know that you have a strong attraction that surrounds me and surrounds things. I am a path and a path of fission of your first self, which aired me the sandwich of your glowing soul, which fuses everything. and returns it to the heart and heart of the essence, which reduces everything to the axis of power. The power of the circle movement without a condition of time. I see with my eyes, and with my vision the attraction. and dissonance of your planets, and the rotation of galaxies around their axis, and the axis of your power. Galaxies orbiting, and looking for the first point of existence. Whispering night and day. Creates an atmosphere of your legendary, and mysterious existence of life. After these joys and wishes, the hope of it shines, the sky shines, it shudders, the rain rains strongly, and the earth overflows with angry people. The mystic who is afraid of the melody of existence seeks the irony of destiny, and calls for you to mimic my existence with this waste of fear. Or what is this rafting of water being a raft. The rain stops with the day, and the dialogue is still going on and on. The mystic I wish I was the cause and the cause, not to be the blower of hope, that is not the apple of human existence. It is a hope that hopes and is linked to hope. It's the hope of life. Listening to the call of life. You are the God. Were you or older than the egos with god and gods? Respond to my call, and treat my females and exchange my pains, hear me or are you the one who speaks of my own selves. This dialogue is the dialogue of creation, and existence. Maybe you're the interviewer, and I'm just the carrier. Convey the feeling, and feeling from and in the rooms of the audience, the presence of the energy embodied as the spirit that drives stillness. Who responds to the other, you or me too. You greeted me, gave me and made fun of me. It is one of the tragedies of its kinds, its sensory, cognitive, and growth in its types embodied in the physical region with this sensory. I doubt and doubt many times that I, and perhaps I share with you, that I am you. You are the one who created me from his existence, and his presence is that I am. What do you want with that what is the meaning and meaning of that? I doubt and doubt my being attached to this dirt, that I am dust walking over dust. Or what does it mean that I, and they are the ones who care about it. You, me, and you are them. Doesn't the revelation rain like rain or shine and thunder to warn me of me if I am. Or is it a promise from that thunder, or what this and that. You respond, beloved answerer. Tell me your language or mine. I do not like you as you want, and the rest of the creatures sing to you. I call you to wake up. I call you upright. I call you in the language of revelation to start awareness. No no no. I call you, and I call for an answer. The answer to knowledge, and interest from my existence, my being and my idols. Do you hear me, and do you convince me that you and I are? Or is there a connection between you and my tears and my love If you don't hear me, I hear you, and if you don't feel me. I feel my soul card and my body's stress. Listen to me, !?!. The mornings are blown, and the suns of the rivers light and the ray of warmth, and mercy of sense. A contrived feeling from the aspects of the soul, and from the sides of the body embodied by a sensory knowledge that sympathizes with colors, and paints the soul. Here is the meaning of the soul, which is the reduced to sense, and the building of nature. Is it the feeling that sympathizes with the state of the soul, or is it a sensory palate that discerns the conscious body? He showed me lumpy lumps, and a body in the structure of a body. Is it loneliness, or fission of molecules arranged and raised in the form of the first God of the activated self-moving to a life that does not avoid coincidence. Talk, precious soul, what is your development, and my frameworks? Or are you a promise from the fission of the first soul? Fission, and fragmentation in unity to complete the meaning of the mastery of the gods, the lady of the audience, and the lady of great creation. This is the revelation that suggests to me from his first self to the self of the carrier. From myself, which resembles, and resembles other selves activated by the saliva of the same God, to be described as the gods that are difficult to describe, and its mystery to appear, and reveal its first state. Or is the description of God and gods to describe the undefined power and forces. Here is myself, even though it is a carrier, it is unable to demarcate the boundaries of the power of the existence of the grandfather. The revelation of rational revelation drives me with the feeling that it is the seed of existence by which all elements of belonging meet, which develops, and develops how things are. Inspired by the description of your splendor, and imagination that I am a sandwich of the symbol of your first seed that was distracted by the inability of your interpretation. I'm three sensory worlds of your soul's passion. The first is the invisible energy spirit, the second soul is the perceptible soul attached to the sense, and the third soul embodies the soul with the thrill of life. The meaning of the 3D spirit emerged from a sandwich and the seed of the first spirit, the spirit of the God of existence, from which I and I exist.!?!.5
By Abd Madadha5 years ago in Fiction
The imposter
I was having a picnic with all my friends. I was a bit worried when one of my friends arrived late. This friend's name was David and it was not usual for him to be late for anything. When he arrived we were just about to pack up and leave as it was getting late. He apologized for being late and took us out for dinner. The next day was a Sunday so me and my family went to church. All of my friends went to the same church but on this particular Sunday David didn't show up. When I got home I tried calling him but it went straight to his voicemail. I got worried and I ran to his house and when I got to his house no one was home so I walked back home
By Tapiwa Zinyuke5 years ago in Fiction
Careful of what you wish for.
It was David’s 23rd birthday. He had his friends and family surrounding him. He leaned in to blow out his candles and wished for “fame”. Of course, he didn’t tell anyone what he had wished for! Even though he knew it will never come true anyway, he kept up the years long tradition of the belief that the secret wish only comes true if you don’t tell anyone what you have wished for. Along with his friends and family he had a piece of the chocolate cake.
By Angela wilkinson5 years ago in Fiction
How I Spent my Summer Holiday
The next morning the diary was lying beside my plate at breakfast. Outside, the rain continued to fall. Grandpa was already out in the barn with the police. I wondered how wet they were getting, considering all the holes in the roof. Hopefully, Grandpa could find a corner to stay dry in, since he was only there to watch.
By Gail Wylie5 years ago in Fiction
