There's somebody standing in the corner of my room. I have no idea who they are. I don't recognise the outline, the shape. I think the figure is a woman. She, if she is a she, is tall and slim, almost skeletal, like a witch. This thought s... [Read more...]
Millions of people left the coasts and ran into the dry middle of the country. The plains and prairies were filled with tents and lean-tos. Smoke rose from fire pits as the tall grass and grain bent in the strong winds.
I held it at arm's length. It had begun to exude a rather offensive smell, but it was not that that had caused me to desire such distance between me and the thing that would undoubtedly change my life.
The thing in question squirmed and grinned a... [Read more...]
Midnight on the roof he had been told, regular as clockwork but this was the third night he had spent in the cold. But as she emerge from the doorway he thought it had been worth it. Even from this distance he could see she was beautiful. H... [Read more...]
He ran into the room, his heart pounding and his clothes soaking wet. "How could you do this to me?" He screamed at Kelly who stood facing him with her arms crossed over her chest and wet red dress clinging to her body.
"Mark, you had ... [Read more...]
Erring on the side of caution I took two of the smaller ones. Just like breakfast, or a night on the town. My body was made for loving and tingling and vibrating with the eternal cosmic hum. I am old enough now to understand the consequences of my actions and ... [Read more...]
Mike Radley is from Catterick Village and has an ugly nose and a fat gut. Sheila Webb, from Catterick Garrison, isn't very attractive either. They have a date tonight because their internet dating service matched them.
Once in beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. Her eyes were rolled back in her head, studying the minute details of the back of her scull, while her mind twisted through the rails of reality.
Publishing digital art is like going to a rooftop and tearing open a feather pillow. You can't control where the feathers go. You can't gather them all again. Ditto for digital art.
We can't control who copies our art, nor how they use it. But we can at least ask those who find the feathers to think of us. To that end Six Minute Story empowers writers to license their work under six Creative Commons licenses or to the Public Domain.
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