Carl’s left arm was pinned beneath his twisted torso and his legs came to rest awkwardly with his right foot entangled in the wooden stretchers of his fallen armchair. A faint pulse echoed the last pumping motion of his heart’s chambers, and then even that last imperceptible sign of life was gone.…
Brightside was appreciative of the guidance and critical input, but oftentimes the task in question was already processed and completed before the email from Harold was ever opened. Going into the second month of the new work arrangement, Harold was sporadically looking at the online portal to appraise the ongoing work performed by Brightside. One late evening, upon multiple attempts to log onto the Dichter Boswith & Crongower online work portal, Harold came to realize that Brightside must have changed the login settings.…
Harold still found himself checking in on certain chores as a habit, only to confirm that Brightside had everything under control. The dog, with an uncanny sense of responsibility, managed the household with an ease that left Harold both impressed and slightly unnerved.…
He reflected upon the slight miracle of Brightside taking out the trash and was curious to discover what additional helpful chores his four-legged roommate was capable of.…
In a moment marked by domestic exasperation yet tethered to his unwavering dedication to work, Harold turned to his trusty dog, his loyal companion, and exclaimed, “Brightside, if you could lend a paw and take out the trash, I would be forever grateful.” This was not a serious request but was born of frustration as Harold attended to the call.…
Lilianna lived in a quaint, sunlit apartment on the 4th floor of a charming old building nestled within the bustling heart of a large metropolis. From her window, she had a front-row seat to the vibrant theater of city life: people scurrying to work in tailored suits, parents pushing strollers to the nearby market, and street vendors shouting over the morning din.…
I raged to gain control of the moment and escape the possible grim destination of my spinning metal death carriage. My rhythmic chant to deny death filled the car’s cabin with an all-out scream. “I’m not gonna die! I’m not gonna die!” …
I pulled the Caprice Classic out of a makeshift garage three blocks away; below Grand Street. I had to call up the building manager two days prior to get her out. He rented the bottom of an ancient building to a couple of car owners like me and filled in the hollow spaces around the cars with restaurant supplies.…
