Unserious postmodern paintings.

The mouse had earned seven degrees, three postdocs, and a fellowship no one else qualified for, yet here it remained, waiting for…

The phoebe had been practicing sincerity for seventeen days, refusing to fluff its feathers even when cold, and insisting on stating the…

The banteng had once been a prize bull in a village festival, adorned with ribbons and paraded before crowds who cheered its…

The giraffe had been purchased on clearance from a defunct roadside zoo, its price tag still faintly visible on its left hoof.…

The waxwing had been reliable for exactly three Tuesdays in a row, which was unusual enough to warrant a note pinned to…

The shark had been invited to brunch, though no one remembered sending the invitation. It arrived at 10:13 a.m., damp from the…

The wigeon had decided, after three years of vague dissatisfaction, to be mediocre on purpose. It arranged its stance just so, tilted…

The trout had stopped believing in irony years ago, which made it the perfect subject for a painting no one could interpret.…

The platypus had been waiting for the ventilation repairman for seventeen days. He never came. The platypus did not complain. It simply…

The whimbrel had been waiting for the beige to notice it. Not the color — the beige itself, as a sentient, patient…

Reginald had always known he was different — not in intelligence, but in presentation. While his kin rooted in mud, he studied…

The coot had been quietly furious since Tuesday, when the duck stole its favourite reed. It did not shout, nor flap, nor…