It was an unfunny joke, it really was. But he started laughing. He couldn’t stop. The officer spoke again… even funnier. The laughs just kept coming. His breath was becoming scarce as the tears rolled down his cheeks. This time it was the detective, and it only added to the unexpected hilarity. His stomach muscles atrophied, and his body doubled over. Finally, his diaphragm released, and he drew a deep breath.
Their guns were trained on him, but their confused faces stayed their trigger fingers. His laughter continued even as his breath returned. He pulled the bomb cord… and winked.
About the Creator
Anthony Stauffer
Husband, Father, Technician, US Navy Veteran, Aspiring Writer
After 3 Decades of Writing, It's All Starting to Come Together
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Higher and Higher
The wind was calm, but the string was tight. It focused on her big smile and bright eyes. Then she let go, the address tag grazing her coat. It reveled in the joy of her ever-shrinking eyes and boisterous laughter. She waved and jumped; the tag jostled in the wind as though waving back.
By Anthony Staufferabout a year ago in Fiction
The Boy Is Dead
The boy woke up. It was early. His alarm had summoned him out of the dream realm and into another realm which was characterised by its grey haze and dully lined clouds. The window provided an excellent view of the towers, of black bin bags, and the city buzzed and hummed, with the sound of engines and power drills. The boy waited a moment, held his device which revealed the time, and seeing as the time was not so jeopardising, ignored it entirely until such a jeopardising scenario would arise. The device held him in its supplemental light, covering in place of the shy sun, and the people in it’s universe existed in a state of perpetual happiness, or perpetual knowledge, and they never left, and they never stopped. The boy could not quite live here yet, he was close, but would need some short time to arrive at the glorious destination in which these people resided. And so for now he would settle and be content in peering through this luminous 7 inch window, a window he could press his face against and not worry, for he could see them, and they could see him and speak to him, and they would tell him stories and they would show him the way. He would at times try to return the favour, make conversation even, but he knew that they had achieved so much more than him, that they were too preoccupied in their success for someone who had not yet reached such an elevated stature. The boy stayed, eyes fixated on the wonders through which he could experience just by looking through the window, and sometimes he would peer through another window, showing him those who were not worthy of his status. Through this window he would snarl at them, as a guard dog does when he senses an approaching impostor, and he would speak to them, reminding them of their position, and teaching them a lesson or two about why they should change themselves, providing examples for those weak ones who resided in the echelons below his standing so that they too would be able to reach his level, and peer into the same window of brilliant hope. After a time the clock lurched forward, as the cost of the window was paid not in cash but in hours. Those on the other side of the window would take these hours as due compensation for the pleasure afforded to their subjects to view them, and to be fortunate to know them in any such way.
By Ismaeel Piperdiabout 13 hours ago in Fiction
Comments (4)
It's always best when someone dies 😁
Fantastic!! You did a great job with this! I loved the twist ending. Total Joker vibes! ❤️
Oooh , excellent and didn't see that coming
The mad bomber 💀