Bureaucracy storie

We pass them everyday. At home, at work, in queues, offices and living rooms. People so ordinary they barely register. Until they do. The Familiar Ones is a collection of short stories about lives that rarely make headlines but quietly shape our world. These stories do not chase drama. They are found in small decisions, delayed courage, moral shortcuts, and quiet compromises we call "life." The characters are not heros or villains. They are us They are 'The Familiar Ones. '

What happens when a city forgets its own name? One morning, everyone realizes they can no longer remember the word that once held their city together. The streets remain. The river still flows. People go to work, fall in love, argue, grieve. But without a name, systems begin to fail-banks freeze, borders blur, records erase themselves, and memory becomes unstable. The Day the City Forgot Its Name follows an archivist who watches history quietly reject authority, and a delivery driver whose familiar routes start to lose meaning. As the city unravels, its residents are forced to confront an unsettling truth: names don't just describe places-they authorize ownership, power, and belonging. This is a slow-burn, idea-driven story about memory, bureaucracy, colonial legacy, and what remains when certainty collapses. There are no easy answers, no restored order-only the question of how to live honestly inside a place that refuses to be possessed. If you like stories that linger, unsettle, and stay with you long after the last line, this city is waiting.

"Nothing that is baseless can be allowed to exist." "But since when did the clear report of one's senses become invalid? This child is right here, can't you see him? There he goes running again, barely avoiding a nasty fall as he takes an unwise step. He gasps as he realises what happened. Can't you hear him gasp? No, you cannot. You cannot hear him because the authorities do not recognise his existence." "I often wonder, did they foresee or plan us anyhow? This equivalence of proof and being, this omniscient bureaucracy we have today?" "There is no way to tell the entrance of this room from the exit."

The Tyris Keystone Council presides over the beating heart of trade in the Lyneth peninsula - the Grand Market. Thousands of people come each day to trade everything from turnips to silver, runic stones imbued with magic to 3 dozen kegs of beer. Caestarian is a 17 year old who has lived beside the Grand Market his entire life, and feels the cut and thrust of bartering and negotiating in his blood. After pressure from his parents to find a career, he applies to join the Keystone Council service, where he can dedicate himself to serving the city he loves. But Kez soon learns that managing such a diverse city is impossible without playing politics and negotiating labyrinthine bureaucracy and tradition. If he wants to make a difference, he will have to learn which rules he will have to follow - and which he can get away with breaking.

What were Assets? What was Espionage? What was a Committee? (Friday Fictionette for February 9, 2018)

When Dr. Sarah Chen receives a late-night summons to the Department of Government Efficiency, she enters a bureaucratic labyrinth where identity dissolves, memories are repurposed, and compliance is the only currency. In a world where allegiance is quantified and reflection can betray you, Sarah must navigate euphemisms that disguise surveillance and loyalty tests that rewrite history. A Kafkaesque dystopia of static echoes, mirrored selves, and emotionally audited lives.

I was given the challenge of writing a story with the sentence "But fortunately he had listed me as next of kin on the UCSF form for them to pick up his body". I thought it was impossible, so I went for it. the only named character was another writer's group challenge where they gave me the character and told me to put them in a story. in short, this is going to be a weird one. anyway, it turned out fun. hope you like it!

Nothing is ever as it seems. When a person stares into a mirror, rarely do they see themselves as they are. The glass fragments the image, distorts the truth, presents a version-a shadow-of what might exist. In the intricate machinery of society, mirrors are everywhere: in the systems that govern, in the choices presented, in the beliefs slowly carved into stone. All reflect but none reveal. _Fractured Mirrors: The Anatomy of Control_ is not a comforting book. Comfort is a luxury reserved for those oblivious to the machinations that shape them. This book is an exhumation, a scalpel slicing through flesh and bone to reveal the mechanisms of domination, the levers operated behind indifference and cold utilitarian logic.

'My Derailments With Truth' is a gut busting journey of Ravina Shekhar, a beauty-with-brains civil servant in the Department of Railway. Riding on a turbine fuelled truth traction, she runs her course full throttle in the high speed corridors of power and the fuzzy fractured tracks of hierarchy. She attempts to apply her 'chopping logic' in train operations, but the shrieking superiors mock her intelligence simply because she could 'conceive' like men. She conscientiously works with her colleagues and juniors to ensure highest standards in public service, but the roughhouse rule keepers point fingers at her incorruptibility just because she could speak up despite being at the bottom of the pyramid. The recurring derailments on her professional front fail to put her down as she resurgently revitalizes her resolve to march on fearlessly by sobbing gushingly in the darkness of the night. Karma precedes kismet is a philosophy she understands. It keeps her going. It keeps her thinking. But the turn of events on her personal living bring her to the junction where the derailment zone starts off. Till all such time she had constantly rubbished the phenomena of true love but when she lumpishly tries her hand at finding inner peace she is scandalised at herself. A fleeting fatuous peep into her own imagery throws up the image of an obtainable soul mate. She is excited at the prospect and hopes to convert it into a relationship. But the understated over-particular societal incitements irrationalize her progressive and polished parents, and she is impetuously married off. BFFs Aadhira and Radha Mam face similar derailments in their life paths, despite being partners in crime on the philosophy construct. Was kismet preloading karma?

Bram is just a serf who wanted a steady job. Instead, he got assigned to the most dysfunctional workplace in the kingdom: a castle where dragons conduct performance reviews, undead clerks still work through lunch, and the suggestion box is literally cursed. His first day? His name was already crossed off the roster. His first performance review? Nearly ended in incineration. His brilliant suggestion to improve efficiency? Made the castle tremble and a hallway start whispering his name. Now everyone's calling him "Your Lowliness" and gifting him paper crowns as a joke. But when a prophetic raven starts addressing him in dead languages and mysterious paperwork keeps piling up on his wandering desk, Bram realizes this bureaucratic nightmare might be more than just bad management. Sometimes the most unlikely people end up exactly where they're supposed to be-even if that place is buried under an avalanche of magical red tape. A fantasy-comedy about finding your place in the world's most absurd corporate hierarchy, where the real magic happens in triplicate.

Flash Fiction Series. Thanks to Rin for the title :3

Tariq didn't expect to die young-much less get drafted into the Department of Mortal Offboarding as an unpaid intern. But when Death himself admits the afterlife is short-staffed, Tariq and a crew of other recently deceased disasters are handed mop-scythes, soul tablets, and zero training. Their mission? Collect the departed without wrecking reality. Their reality? Ghost TikToks, haunted buffets, and a skeleton boss who might be one spreadsheet away from collapsing eternity. Welcome to the afterlife's least efficient workplace, where every mistake can trigger a haunting and every reaper just wants five minutes of eternal coffee break.

In a galaxy ruled by logic, order, and hyper-advanced alien civilizations, humanity stands out as the chaotic wildcard of the Galactic Concord. Against all odds-and much to the bafflement of superior species-humans have risen to power with their unique blend of stubbornness, creativity, and shameless improvisation. When the Concord threatens to impose an embargo on Earth, humanity's chaotic brilliance is unleashed through Plan H: a bizarre, taco-fueled scheme involving gift baskets, "luxury tubers," bureaucratic sabotage, and the universal allure of whiskey. As alien delegates navigate the baffling quirks of humanity, they're forced to confront an unsettling truth: humans might just be the galaxy's greatest, and most infuriating, problem-solvers. Equal parts comedy, chaos, and clever manipulation, this story explores how one species' unpredictability can outmaneuver even the most advanced civilizations-one taco at a time.

A passionate artist. An optimistic skeleton. A tortured soul. A haphephobic glitch. An unfair world. Ink has always hated the country's justice system. It seems to target monsters and supporters of monsterkind. Dream has always seen something wrong with the law and wants to change it. Fern has enough problems of his own already, as someone who's being destroyed by their own power may feel. Error hates humans after the murder of his parents. Can they change the law so that everyone is free to love? I do not own any characters (except Fern. He is my OC) and all original rights go to Toby Fox and other creators

In a meticulously ordered 1955, even health is a matter of state directive. Mr. Z, a sixty-two-year-old bank clerk of no particular note, receives his "sentence" from the doctors: daily walks, not for pleasure, but to ensure he remains robust enough to serve the Realm and the Church for years to come. As sparrows flit with "pointless joy" and children sing hymns of the King while their stomachs ache, Mr. Z embarks on his prescribed exercise. Every step is an act of mandated well-being, every movement watched. He must report his walk, justify his health, and sign a confirmation that he has fulfilled his duty. The state demands not just his labor, but his very vitality. But as he observes a free-roaming dog, "harmless and therefore feared," a quiet rebellion begins to stir within his "third half"-the part that knows and does not act. In a world where freedom can be mistaken for danger, Mr. Z finds himself caught between the comfortable cage of obedience and the terrifying allure of an unscripted life. What does it mean to be a good man when even your health is a tool of the state? And how long can one simply "not think" when the world insists on thinking for you?

A satire about a simple man caught in the web of bank loan

With officious care, the warden of a group of prisoners checks over the cells and discovers that all is not well.

After creating the smut stories I decided to surprise you all with Good Omens Fluff!! I hope you all enjoy it. (All pictures found on Pinterest) Most of the stories will be Crowley x Aziraphale, but I could add in some other character's ships: Aziracrow(Ineffable husbands) Ineffable Bureaucracy(Gabriel, Lord Beelzebub) Ineffable Descendants (Anathema Device, Newton Pulsifer)