Funny stories in under 500 words.

Saturday Morning Observation (Written in the Afternoon)

This story was written by Síleigh Wallace, who thinks you deserve better out of your sex life. She is also a third-year film student who lives and works in London.

If you didn’t wake up in a bed stained with ink, did you even go to bed with a writer?

Incriminate myself, too. Take a look for yourself. Peel back the duvet to see the stain on the spot where a man’s head should have been leaning on my shoulder. See instead the bleeding black pool that’s messed the areas around it, claiming it for its own.

I don't even know how it happened, or hell, when it did.

Look south in the sheets and every menstrual stain you’ll meet will I greet with a salutation of remembrance and date. Silly old me, did that happen again?

Dull, damaged blood on a woman’s bed is undeniable truth, no alternative fact as that.

But you’d have taken a second glance at that bed sheet’s bruise, wouldn’t you?

From this observation, I give you this scenario to ponder. You’re at a bar, suddenly a fella who says he’s a writer, too, is chatting you up.

For God’s sake, please beware. Male writers give new nuance to the meaning ‘dangerous creatures’.

You find yourself going home with this self-proclaimed noter of words, then the first thing you do when you get to his is to find an excuse to get into his bed. No, not for mediocre one-night-stand sex. But if he passes this test, then go ahead and fornicate premaritally, by all means you sexy sinner you.

No, go into his room to check to see if he indeed has ink stains.

Pell back those sheets like you did mine and have a glance over.

If no mark meets your eye, call him out.

You're a self-proclaimed writer and on nights when you don't go to bed with a human, you don't even go to bed with a pen?

He'll probably come up with some shit excuse or two.
  • Oh, it's all on my Mac book.
  • It's on my phone.
  • I'm a digital guy.
  • I'm responsible enough to do all my writing at my desk at appropriate work hours.
Get. The. Fuck. Out.

You deserve better dick, full stop.

If you get to his room and find shreds of paper, crumbled balls of mess, notebooks open on page 312, a few pens in his bed with chewed up tips -- you have found yourself a winner. Those black and blue stains that match his soul? They are heaven sent.

Congratulate yourself with some fine, existential dick.

He's a guy that will wake up at 4.37 to write down the dream others would be content enough to forget. In his jeans he won’t just be happy to see you, but there will be a pen with a screw cap just waiting to be used.

Yes, indeed, this will be a sensitive beast that is probably a symbolist. He’ll probably have inherited his mother’s depression.

On his worst days he will the most self-centred creature discovered, but you sure as hell know he'll be writing about you.


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