The orange in the sock

Who put the orange in my sock? I don’t like orange of any kind. Oval, round, tangy, sweet, I hate them all.

The old man grumbled as he went around the house to check for sign of the break-in but everything looked to be in perfect order. He then open his backdoor and threw the orange in the yard, thinking some animals might like it more than he does.

The next morning, another fresh orange appeared in his sock. This time it was even bigger and brighter. He threw it out again.

On the third day, when he opened his door with the orange at the ready, a squirrel was waiting. The squirrel was so skinny, you’d think it’s a paper mache on a small frame.

Now the old man likes oranges and he shares it with his new ferry friend.

A prize with a surprise

Harry rushed up the stage in the thunderous applause. He had a feeling he was going to win the prize at last. Being a para-normal reporter, past judges refused to favor him.

He had been waiting for this moment since the government went full disclosure on the UFO and alien phenomenon. Although he always thought doing his job right was good enough for him, now he knew how much he wanted this chunk of crystal paperweight.

Upon returning home, he placed the award on his windowsill where the moonlight can be splattered onto all corners of his room. As his eyelids got heavier, he noticed the bright spots expanding; a sucking sound came from the direction of the window; his body being squeezed and pulled toward the crystal like warm taffy.

Next day’s headline: “Award Winning Reporter, Gone without A Trace”