The Way Home

I usually take the long road from work back to my home at the edge of the village, but today, everybody looked down as I walked past. When I placed my key in the lock, I heard an emotionless voice from behind: “I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”

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Rating: 7.0/10 (126 votes cast)

Silver Lining

The virus had given his wife youth; after he exhumed her she followed him wherever he went, craving his body with a mindless desire. He didn’t mind, age had claimed her teeth long ago and he had never believed in “till death do us part.”

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Rating: 7.0/10 (15 votes cast)

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Rating: 1.9/10 (37 votes cast)

Someone’s life story

The son of a Partisan and a pianist, I was born in Ljubljana, Slovenia on January 31, 1946, the same day the new Yugoslav Constitution came into effect. I died on November 17, 1989, whilst working as a television journalist in the state media, when a large, colourful chunk of the Berlin Wall – dislodged by an enthusiastic and probably intoxicated young Westerner in a Bruce Springsteen t-shirt – fell and hit me on my head.

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Rating: 4.2/10 (17 votes cast)