Half-Baked Potato

by tizzlestix

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Great stories!

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Writing Can be Hard...
*crickets*

by pinochle

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You Had One Job
But what’s with the herbs? You literally eat out every night; the most I’ve seen you cook is toast, and it’s never even very good toast, and yet now you’re buying exotic herbs and- are you chopping those herbs, Jhudora? You have multiple greasy Shenkuuvian takeout boxes from that place with the peeling pink paint and yet here you are cooking. That doesn’t seem like you, Jhudora.

by quanticdreams

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Mr. Aramate's Wonderous Emporium of the Soul: Part Two
Peter was eight. Which was an exceptionally important age, because all things are exceptionally important when you are eight. What you are eating for dinner, what colour your new shoes are going to be, and what is over the next hill. All pale into insignificance next to each other. The moment, that is what you live for.

by herdygerdy

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The Sisterhood of Terra and Phee: Part Fve
After I say goodbye to Lana, who has been talking with a prospective owner the past few days -- a scholar, I believe -- I write a neomail to Tricia and update her. She was adopted two months ago by a similarly shy and incredibly sweet girl with two other pets who Tricia seemed to love immediately. Then I say goodbye to Bert, who has become a more or less a friendly presence to me since I stood up to him shortly after Terra left. Then it was time to say goodbye to everything else.

by lizzy_beth_750551

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