I'm just gonna type, type till I can't be arsed to type know more, type till I have misspelled every thing because I'm not paying any attention, type till the sun comes up because I can, type because I'm able to type with my hands, type till the world stops spinning round, type all the adventures i can imagine, type all my great memories I have encountered, type till my eyes are sleepy, type because I'm not sleepy, type because my girlfriend is asleep, type because I have nothing better to do, type because I am able to type, type to appreciate I have touch screen, type because I can type fast, type doesn't even sound like type know more, type reminds me of tripe if that's a thing, type rhymes with wipe, type is spelt weird? Type? How does that make sense? Type? Typing? Tapping? Topping? Shopping? Hopping? Stopping? Stomping? Nope… just type…
About the Creator
Danny Hartley
Lifes contradicting, people are ignorant, society is failing, the government is more useless then a car with no wheels, but more importantly I'm allergic to cats and I have two ✌️
Keep reading
More stories from writers in Poets and other communities.
Was I a Model in Japan?
During my time in Nagoya I worked and lived at the strangely famous hostel and café Nagonoya. With its chequered floors and florescent lighting it felt quite dated, but I think that was supposed to be part of the charm. The dorms were always fully booked on weekends with domestic tourists and there was always a buzz in the downstairs café. Camera crews were constantly in and out of the place interviewing the Japanese staff members who worked the café. I think it had something to do with the egg sandwiches. At least that was what was on most of the merchandise, except for that one dishcloth with the owner’s face on it. Was I being employed by a local celebrity?
By Susanna Kiernan5 days ago in Wander
A New Beginning
Tony couldn’t sit still, crossing and uncrossing his legs, trying to calm his trembling hands as Clara stood at the office window deep in thought. The airline ticket in his shirt pocket moved to the beat of his heart¬– each beat bringing back the nightmare causing memories of the words he’d spoken over ten years ago. Thanks to Clara he’d finally gained the courage to buy that ticket.
By Gerald Holmes3 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.