Satire Short Stories

Data Dust and Digital Fire

By Eva Suluk

The air in the community hall hung heavy and still, thick with the unseasonal humid warmth of a northern summer. A low hum vibrated from the ceiling-mounted projector, a sound that usually meant nothing, just the persistent background noise of the ‘Digital Hearth’ functioning as intended. Tonight, however, it carried an unnerving, discordant undertone, a frantic buzz suggesting something fundamental was off-kilter. The holographic display, meant to showcase local artists' digital work, pulsed with a sickly green, then shifted to an angry, pixelated red, casting a momentary, unsettling glow over the scarred linoleum floor.

The Somnambulist's Inquiry

By Jamie F. Bell

The city, a permanent smear of grey and concrete, stretched out beyond my office window. Spring had officially arrived, marked not by birdsong or sunshine, but by a relentless, indifferent drizzle that coated everything in a dull sheen. The air in my small office hung heavy with the smell of stale coffee and damp wool, a scent as familiar as the ache in my joints. Another Monday, another deluge, and I was contemplating a 'lead' that smelled less like a case and more like a fever dream.

The Forgotten Penny

By Jamie F. Bell

The aroma of lukewarm coffee and synthetic cheese hung heavy in the air of the food court, a perpetual hum of a hundred small conversations and clattering trays providing the backdrop. Fluorescent lights, unforgiving and stark, cast a pale, uniform glow over the plastic tables and tired faces, making everything feel slightly too bright, slightly too artificial. It was the kind of place where days blurred into an endless cycle of consumption, yet even here, amongst the manufactured cheer, genuine human stories unfolded, unnoticed by most.