/lit/ - Literature

A man ate a chicken sandwich and died. It wasn't really chicken.

Poop pooped on teh poop deck =D

>>4482906
A chicken plucked bits of bread from the pile of jostled layers of the sandwich on the ground, beside the dead man who had been holding it.
It wasn't really a chicken.

Cada día me siento en mi silla en frente de mi computadora. Comí algo que no es pollo. ¡Dios mío!

I tapped away on the keyboard of the library computers. I had entered a random novel into the library's computer system. "Infinite Jest." I had heard it before, something cited in an article as being very long and complicated, now I was curious. The search results displayed a blue book with clouds on its cover. 1079 pages paperback, 2 copies available. Interesting. The real reason I was here, though, was not to find large, complicated novels. I had seen a girl here a few days before. I had also seen her in the hallways of my High School, and I had seen her in my classes. But was she here? I looked around at the faces in the library. There weren't many. A few elderly women on the padded chairs reading. Almost no one my age and not very many adults. She wasn't there. I opened up Facebook on the old computer, which took a long time to load, and checked to see if this mysterious girl had a profile. Of course, she did. It was a photo of her on a webcam, smiling nicely. There was a reason I was obsessed. I hovered my mouse over the "Add Friend" button and stared at the screen. It was the smallest movement, the smallest twitch of the finger, but it was difficult. There were things i had to consider. Did I know her enough? I actually had not speaked with her at all. Was it strange to add someone as a friend if I didn't know them? No, it wasn't, was it? Yes, it was actually. I put my face in my hands. What I wanted so bad was eluding me again, and I was completely helpless to all of it. I was useless. I looked out the window of the library. It was sunset, and the last yellow glows of the sun were barely breaking the horizon. And then, they were gone.

>>4482954

this is awful

>>4482954
>I had
>6x
this is the least of your problems

>>4482918
What was it?

Someone was pussying out. No doubt; no lie. My homie Ricardo squished a cigarette underneath his shoe.
"Homes," I said.
"Que paso, ese?"
"You are not the snitch, are you, compa?"

His face was a piece of granite, mang. My corazon sank hard.
Ricardo's next words did not relieve me.
"I can only say this because you are my hermano. There is no one ratting the gang out. It is a police conspiracy against you."

I realized then, that there was no chicken. It was an entire flock. Mang.

Hackmad, a muslim man of a young age lived in hunger and for the majority of his life. A prophet of considerable renown promised him that he would be taken care of by God if he stayed faithful to the word in the scripture. On a very hot day in which Hackmad was very hungry, a pig fell from the sky to the gorund. Hackmad would not approach the pig, a dirty animal, for fear of breaking the promise to God, for he awaited the gifts that God would give him in heaven. As the days got even hotter and Hackmad became hungrier, pigs of all sizes, shapes and colors continued to fall from the sky for six days. After the seven days, Hackmad died and was taken up to heaven. At the gates he could see 99 pure virgins awaiting his entrance in heat. He approached Saint Peter, who told him that his name was not on the list. St. Peter explained to Hackmad that God had provided for him on earth with the pigs, and that the correct scripture was in fact the Mormon bible. Hackmad was sent to hell. There he burned for eternity with all non-Mormon souls.

The guitarist pushed the sandwich-bearing plate away. "I don't eat meat, remember?"
Zyrac, the extra-terrestrial groupie, shook her head stubbornly and levitated the sandwich in front of his face.
"Stop it, Zyrac."
"I made it special for you. You'll like it."
"No."
"Please?" the alien batted her six thousand eyelashes.
"Y-you can't do tha-"
The eyelash battery grew so intense such that gusts of wind shot from them, afflicting the guitarist's conflicted visage.
"Damn it, Zyrac." The guitarist took a bite of the floating sandwich.
"You like it?"
"It's good," he conceded, "but there's chicken in it."
"Err, yeah. Chicken."
It wasn't really chicken.

"This is too short. Make it longer."

SMASH.

"No. You said to write it short.

BANG.

An elephant somewhere Africa is humping a hippo because it suffers from species dysphoria.

>>4482966
Imagine a future where every short story and novel involves confused, young white males obsessing over girls on Facebook...That day is on the horizon.

>>4483077
>such that
Ho-lee shit.

>>4482991
Sorry pal, this isn't spoonfeeding general.

The coolest pair of sunglasses ever was within my reach, but if I put them on I would go blind. I could be really cool with the sunglasses and get lots of pussy, but not see. It took me three minutes to decide that the glasses would never touch my face, for vision was more important than pussy overall, by only a little bit. My friend then took the glasses and put them on. He looked really fucking cool. "Are you blind," I asked.
"Yes" he replied, "But I now have cool vision, which is better than regular vision in every way."
I killed him and stole the glasses. Cool vision is awesome.

>>4483077
Zyrac is a cunt.

>>4483025
Ay, dios mio...

Is /lit/ really this full of shit?

>Wrote this the other night, figured it'd be fair to use.

The First Question

Humanity emerged a little over a million years ago, to split the fewest hairs and please Occam’s barber. The pioneers of sapience were not our species, Homo sapiens. Homo habilis, the tool-maker and fire-shaper, questing nomad of the African plains, was the first thing we can all agree was human.

Wielding the gift of Promethean fire, these first humans scorched the earth and carved into the black flesh of primordial night. This event was a paradigm shift within nature—someone was now in control. Silent stones, older than memory, scraped flesh from subdued prey in the hands of their masters. The dark eons had finally come to an end. Intention matured from the imago of instinct.

We were their greatest grandchildren. The skies and seas were conquered by chain and net, blade and jet. And we laughed smog. And we cried oil. And we bled greed which we spilt and spread across every land. Still, it was not enough.

Earth, left barren, was not our home anymore. The riches of cosmic afterbirth sustained us in the cradle of space, but those too proved exhaustible, and the distances to the nearest worlds insurmountable. The molecular assemblers ran low. War distracted us for awhile. Those that were left at the end pondered the same question the first innovator asked.

“What is progress?”

Johnny walked into the room after he heard silence for a minute or two. Mary was sitting alone on an old brown couch. She was playing with a piece of blue wool, twirling it with shaky hands as her foot kept tapping at a constant rhythm despite no music playing. Mary looked up at him.

"I just got the result."

She looked at Johnny with watery eyes as she stood to her feet.

"I'm pregnant."

Before Johnny could reply, she was already off to the bathroom in tears. The door slammed shut behind her, and her wailing grew fainter.

Johnny sat on the couch and picked up the wool she had just been playing with. A faint smile grew on his lips.

"The joke is on her", he thought to himself, "it can’t be mine, I’ve been fucking her with a strap-on this whole time."

>>4484519
That reminds me of the copypasta of a guy who secretly got a vasectomy.

>>4484526
craigslist.org/about/best/sea/274495936.html

>>4483086
Hello, friend.