Hidden Face Skip to main content

Featured

Fletch the Oven Master

The fluorescent glow of the Pizza Hut kitchen had never been Fletch's preferred lighting. His natural habitat, the realm of the orcs, boasted the harsh, beautiful glare of volcanic ash and the flickering torchlight of cavernous halls. Here, it was the relentless hum of fryers and the clatter of pizza trays. Fletch, an ogre-type monster whose hulking frame barely fit beneath the low-slung ceilings, had endured another shift. The final buzzer for the last delivery order echoed like a distant war drum. Fletch, whose official title was, "Oven Master & Dough Specialist", slammed a fresh Supreme into its thermal bag. "Done", he rumbled, a sound that made the teenage cashier jump. The red Pizza Hut polo, stretched taut across his broad, greenish chest, felt like a straightjacket. The smell of processed cheese and stale bread clung to him like a desperate limpet. He didn't bother with the staff locker room. The polo was ripped off with a single, powerful tug...
Post a Comment
Read more

Hidden Face

In the deep blue expanse of her own mind, or perhaps the vast, indifferent sea of life's complexities, she carries the quiet burden of a misunderstanding. She knows not that in this vulnerable space, she need not hide her face, need not shield the genuine contours of her spirit from perceived judgment or inadequacy. The very depths she feels compelled to conceal are, in fact, the wellspring of her unique light and resilience. It is a poignant paradox, this self-imposed shadow, leading one to ponder the most fundamental question about her: does she, living behind this veil of unnecessary caution, even begin to grasp the quiet strength she possesses, the profound empathy that guides her, the inherent goodness that makes her, in so many unseen ways, a truly great human being?



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular Posts