Short Stories
Intensity
A DART rumbled up on the tracks, just below where Michael was sitting. He turned his attention to the ocean. It being the kind of day that it was, the grey waters faded against the skyline, the rippling waves mirrored the rolling clouds. Michael sighed and glanced at his watch. She was late. Her lateness gave him time to reflect, on the day they’d first met. A year ago today, in fact. But under very different circumstances…
Frilicky Farmyard Frolics
So, there they were – a ginger cat talking to a brown-feathered chicken in the middle of a chicken farm. But then this was no ordinary farm; this was Jacinta Kennel’s farm. The aforementioned cat is called Queen Rebecca, and the hen of which I speak named Poko. Queen Rebecca is supposedly the farm’s ‘guard cat’, and has been ordered by Jacinta to keep an eye on the chickens (it’s a free-range farm – anything is possible!). However, Rebecca has her own agenda. Sadly, this cat suffers from depression, and rather than take Prozac™ like everybody else, she insists on killing chickens to drown her misery. She especially likes killing fat ones. You see, Rebecca is also anorexic and hence has this pet hate of flab. Poor, poor pussy – when she sees those fat gay (um, as in happy) hens frilicking and frolicking about in their free-range-ness, she just has to pounce.
Bullying
It is said that the bullied later become bullies themselves, and I have done my best to live up to this cliché. It looked like so much fun – releasing all that anger, the feeling of power attained when somebody smaller than you bends to your will. One day, I just made the commitment: I decided to begin my bullying career. Unfortunately, though, I couldn’t find any human beings smaller than me to use as victims. So, I took to bullying sheep. I love sheep. They’re so fluffy and round and easy to bully. You can say whatever you like to them and all they’ll do is say ‘baaa’, if anything.
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