The Story Bay

“Profile: The victim appears to be in her late twenties, Caucasian, blonde hair, in prime physical shape. The victim’s eyes have been gorged out and bite marks of an animal origin are visible near her genitalia. Cause of death: Internal organ damage and bleeding. The scene suggests that the victim struggled with the assailant. The furniture around the house is broken save for one wooden chair found outside the house." The night was brightly lit with a full moon, and yet had a certain chill to it. It was something straight out of a Stephen King novel. Sargent McDonnel had just started with the graveyard shift when he got a call of a struggle from some worried neighbors. What awaited him in the house was a scene fit for nightmares. A young, beautiful lay dead on the floor, with her organs spewing out of her body. The broken furniture and splashes of blood bore witness to the grotesque scene of the place and told them of the event that had happened there that night. T...

A microfiction is a super short, bite-size piece of writing that has multiple interpretations, and manages to convey a fairly substantial story or message in just a few words. Here are some of my microfictions. Hope you enjoy them. 1. "The spotlight is yours," they said, as they pushed the pedestal on her. 2.  "The usual then," Bartender asked. "No, just one," I said. 3. The labs were canceled. 4. Do I suck? 5.  After everyone left, she did endless pirouettes on his grave. 6. Geez. You were just supposed to take care of the holes. 7. "He won't remember when he's older," Said his father. Hit us up with your microfiction tales here

"Oof! It smells in here." I thought as I was being stretched and rubbed against people on the subway. My owner has a car, but for some reason, he prefers to use public transportation. I think he might be stalking someone. Ah, I almost forgot, I am Sir Jack. I am a sentient Jacket. I can think, feel and ugh! Smell things. It's 2020, it'd be unwise for you assume that I don't have feeling s. Let me tell y'all a story. I was on my owner, with my hot body wrapped around his. I saw this jacket in the office. He was Gucci. He had zips in all the right places. I wanted my owner to get closer so I could get a better look, but alas, he doesn't really swing that way. I tried to swallow my feelings, "Cool your jets, it's just hormones" I said. But the heart wants what the heart wants. That night, all I could think about was the jacket I saw in the office The way his hot tanned leather wrapped tightly around the body, the way his zips teased me...

People have defined insanity as "Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome" I understand why people say that about insanity, but they could not be further from the truth. I remember the time I made a bet with my friends. It was easy money. All I had to do to win was climb up to the 50th floor of that abandoned building and take a selfie from there. And so I stepped inside the building. It was old and withered. The elevator did not work. I had to take the stairs. "50 flights of stairs, exercising is paying off." I thought.  I started climbing the old wooden stairs. They creaked with each step. As I soldiered on, I couldn't help but notice the beautiful metal floor markers on each floor. I made my way through the old building. I went past the spider webs and rats; but so far, no serial killers or demons. I started counting the floor numbers as I climbed up to distract myself from the chore. 15, 16, 17, 18.....