by PV
The flapping of their leathery wings was dying away. Maybe, just maybe, it was safe to come out. Muffin stayed back, uncertain after all had taken place this morning. Her world was upside down, the kitchen was in an uproar over the sightings and had neglected to put out the usual saucer of milk. Of course Slick Sylvester would know, he had weathered a lot of storms. Muffin felt sick to see all her siblings scattered in the grass like fluffs of thistledown. Their souls were seeping upward, gaining altitude, up, up and over the brightly colored fluttering leaves. Muffin remembered her mom saying "in the north and east they are highly migratory, heading west and south during autumn - those hounds of hell."
"She could not understand what he had been through."
By RMAF
The amorous female polar bear I met up in northern Alaska took a personal liking to me in my white hooted fur coat and muck muck boots. But I told her I had already gone through four divorces with big, bear-like women and wasn't willing to take another chance at love. So we waved good bye to each other.
"Then, without warning or fanfare, we won."
by GS
The feline dance contest was the highlight of the spring social calendar. Bootsie spent many minutes practicing his ballet moves, which is a long time for a cat, of course. Most of what they do is completely innate so practice is superfluous. The first prize of a whole can of tuna fish was the great motivator. As Bootsie's driver, I was also thrilled to be in the running since I could win the gift card for dinner at Mel's Fish House, the swankiest place on the Cape. The competition was formidable including last year's winner, Kittles, who did the tango. Did we even have a chance? Finally the day arrived and I drove Bootsie to the arena where he sparkled and received much applause for his Swan Lake.The results were finally announced, and then, without warning or fanfare, we won! The can of tuna was quickly devoured.
"Sharon drummed her fingers on the table, clearly worried about the same thing."
By TNT
Sharon is from New Jersey - she can't help it if her husband is a wrestler on Wrestlemania. He makes a good living even when he loses. His wrestling name is Bull-Nut Brain-Basher, the Unvanquished. He has a great physique married only by toes that turn outwards. He walks flat-footed; when he walks, he sways. He has been punched in the head too many times to remember where his house is so she always drives him home. Today Sharon drummed her fingers on the table, clearly worried about the same thing. She couldn't pick him up and she was worried he would get in the wrong vehicle and go somewhere else and then never find his way back to the New Jersey turnpike and the street where he lived. He'd probably take on a whole new identity and personality. How would she ever find him? Maybe she would have to put ad in the paper. But she had to miss this one performance. It was her son's first event. He was the wrestler in the other ring and she couldn't miss his debut. He had trained so long.
"It was a brilliant, even visionary idea."
By AD
I wear the fire of the sun like night cloaks itself in darkness. With my eyes I see the truth for I am seeing really seeing. The strength of ten men is within me but people hate Raku, Son of Rac, for I am a tiger. You humans are so quick to judge us. You are ruled by media, you hipsters, goths and youtubers don't pay attention to the real world. You see movies with tiger attacks or stories of men being eaten by my kind. Some tigers do eat humans but you are horrible choices for dinner with flesh salty like the sea, bones like glass and blood thick as oil. They fear us due to the stories, they see us a monsters on earth, demons, a wolf in sheep's clothing. Why can't you humans see that I just want to share the world we live in together. We share the same, see the same earth, the same sun and moon. This is both of our homes. I walk with you now with my young for this is our home too. It was a brilliant perhaps even visionary idea.
by CC
Oh, crap, Angela thought as her body flew into the air and fluttered above her desk, to which she clung with grim intensity. "Blaine," she cried to the man standing across the room. "I know I said I was glued to my desk and couldn't go out with you tonight. I know it was a poor choice of words. I'm sorry. I will go out with you!"
Blaine stroked the headless chicken he had sacrificed to the gods the night before. The bitch was dating Rick Peterson. He saw them yesterday at Starbucks cooing over their frappucinos. So as far as he cared, she could just be glued to her desk all night. "Aren't you going out with Rick tonight, Angela?" he asked. "I don't believe you want to go out with me at all. I think I'll just wait for Rick to show up."
"Then what, Blaine! He won't like what you've done to me. Or are you planning to use voodoo on him, too?"
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