Fiction
Fiction
TWITTER @BBCnews why are the millennials dying en masse? One week since the epidemic began, here's what we know so far #MillennialPocalypse TELEGRAPH ONLINE Few noticed it at first, the initial wave of deaths. Perhaps there were a few less Deliveroo drivers clogging up the streets. A dearth of mocha-choca-calorie-free-free-range-organic-fairtrade-edamame-latte pop up vendors.
She arrives just in time for advent, my Christmas Companion. I place her on the sofa and we count down the days on the calendar. I eat the chocolate, she stares at the pictures with icy eyes twinkling. A star. A king. The Baby Jesus. She doesn't give a shit.
"Social Media Si." That's what they call me. "He's a nice guy," they say, "if a little quiet." I guess they can't hear my blood boil over the kettle. Largely, I'm ignored. Email communication is preferred. They flick titbits at me from across the room, which are beamed briefly into space before appearing on my monitor.
Fiction by Daniel Ayres None of it is hers. Not the thundering sea. Not the teasing pale light lingering on the horizon. Not the wind in its infinite onslaught upon this scattering of islands sitting in forgotten seas. Her feet venture a little forward. Her hands, two shades lighter now, dig into his cagoule and ...
Is this thing bloody working? I can't see fuck all. S'all black. What? Which button? Alright, clicked that. Ah, there you are you ugly little fuckers. My God, what do you call that kinda haircut? Your generation really has hit rock bottom, hasn't it boys? Who you calling baldy? Me?
Paul's booze-sodden brain was at the beck and call of an indecisive octopus, pulling on levers protruding from the neurological coral that sent his body conflicting messages. Some of these were organic - sensible motions willing him to eat, to drink water, and most prominently of all, to sleep.
by Dan Ayres Image: Ana Thompson The retirement home for viral animals is a bleak place, as you might expect. We're a bunch of washed up critters, faded stars with nowhere to go. But don't render us redundant just yet, good viewer. We may still surprise you, like we did before.
'Give u a handjob'. This was the unassuming, a little confusing, suggestion-cum-question-cum-directive that changed the world, or at least the gay one. It was the only information on the Grindr bio of Johnny Armstrong, along with a close up avatar showing plump lips, sea-green eyes and freckles aplenty.
Follow the trials and tribulations of one time character actor Bruce Tanner when he's forced back into sitcom work. (with the whole story happening on Twitter and in the LongShorts app)
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