Unserious postmodern paintings.

The hummingbird knew the fern was dead. It hovered anyway, bow tie perfectly straight, grin fixed in place. It had accepted its…

The wildebeest had booked the appointment three weeks in advance. He arrived precisely at 10:00 AM, wearing his best tie. The receptionist…

The lyrebird spent three years imitating the sound of a beige wall. It practiced in the beige room, on the beige armchair,…

Harold had waited three hours for the sardine. He practiced his smile in the mirror and polished his bowtie until the velvet…

The bird had died three times this week. It did not mind; the paperwork was the tedious part. It stood perfectly still…

Gregory had been damp for three weeks. He did not know how it started, only that the moisture persisted regardless of the…

The bird waited for the seed that never arrived. It had read the pamphlet on seed distribution three times. It checked the…

The impala had prepared its apology for three weeks. It stood in the cubicle, hooves clasped, and explained to the empty room…

The becard had retired from the canopy, though he kept the waistcoat for formality. He spent his afternoons in the grey room,…

Harold had been waiting for the permit since Tuesday. The clerk had assured him the process was straightforward, provided he remained seated…

Arthur kept the caracara because it remembered the filing system. Every Tuesday, he asked it where the 1942 invoices were, and the…

The butterfly knew the stove was hot. It had seen the steam rising from the kettle earlier that morning. Still, it remained…