Fantasy

Repeat
Long before there were iPhones there was a world separated into three parts. There were people who lived at the top of the hills, people that lived at the edge of the sea, and the people who lived at the bottom of the ocean. The only thing keeping everyone connected was said to be hidden in a brown box.
By K. Waterss5 years ago in Fiction
Is it a tree or is it me?
Is it the tree, or me? Is it real or a dream? The pear tree had been planted on the day of my birth. It started to bear fruit when I was three years old, it was at its most productive from five years to forty five years, which is the normal and average for a conference pear in this part of England. Then into a steady reduction in the yearly crop of the best cooking pears you could find. Now it was past its best, just the occasional show of blossom and even more rare, a small crop of fruit, to remind of its past glories. All exactly like myself. The most creative years seem to be behind me. The tree and I are both sixty years old; yet I still strive to burst out with meaningful production, still keen to claim my former place as a success and a worthwhile provider. Like the tree, my roots are firm in the ground, the spirit is willing but the bees no longer buzz around the blooms and no one expects to harvest my out put. When you start to make comparisons they become uncanny. The conference pear is almost self fertile and I never needed outside inspiration to start creative work. The pears were best picked before full ripeness, stored and then cooked with skill. My writing was best when a skilled editor got me to rework the final draft before any publisher saw it. The last fifteen years have been an ever increasing rate of failure and ineptitude. Just as the tree lost is productive vigor, so did I. Now young people do not even realize the tree is a pear tree, one that once provided well for the household, similarly they do not know I was once a popular author. My work no longer in fashion and never was good enough to be called a classic. Out of print, out of mind, just like the tree.
By Peter Rose5 years ago in Fiction
Dagda's Cauldron
“Ssshhh.” Aengus pushed me down onto the ground, covering my mouth to stop any noise from escaping my mouth. “Don’t move.”
By Lolita Civic5 years ago in Fiction
How Pedong Became an Arbularyo
The power of an Arbularyo to heal sick people with a malady caused by either witchcraft or mischievous elementals is normally bequeathed to him by his ancestors. It is passed on from one generation to the next through a ritual performed before the demise of the expiring bearer. But for Pedong, his ancestors didn’t give on him such power. He became an Arbularyo through acuity and bravery.
By M.G. Maderazo5 years ago in Fiction
Dagda's Cauldron
I was surrounded by black feathers, instead of a monster I opted for an animal, a raven. The raven was my spirit animal, the raven had gifts of prophecy and protection. My golden hair shined like the sun, standing out against the backdrop of black. A young man, who was fair and tall, hair like the raging sun was walking towards my father and I. My father’s sadness turned to uneasiness, the change in the atmosphere made me want to run back home and hide in my bed, I was not good with confrontation, I was meek and found it easier to just do what was expected of me. My father made room for this young gentleman, a name that he went by was Cuidightheach, my father arranged with Cuidightheach father for us to be wed by the next full moon. All that I know about my groom to be was that he was tall, handsome with red hair, his father was a carpenter. I never spent any time with him but there was a week until the next full moon and I guess meeting at some point was inevitable.
By Lolita Civic5 years ago in Fiction
Totem
Louise would never forget the morning she had woken up to find her home in a state of dramatic stillness and of perfect architectural proportions. Everything was as it should be, and yet this was the most troubling thing of all. I will explain shortly why this was a disturbing morning for Louise, who had never in her 10 years living on the 5th floor of her studio apartment on La rue Notre-Dame-de-Nazareth, woken up to such a balanced interior ratio. She did not open her eyes to a ceiling that was only a finger’s length from the tip of her nose, or conversely, an intimidating 2.6 meters away which as you’ve probably guessed is almost the exact hauteur sous plafond. All of her limbs were rationally contained well within the perimeters of her mattress, cradled and centered so that none of her body parts were involuntarily spilling onto the floor, nor was her minuscule form swimming in an endless sea of sheets. Everything else that had legs was intact—coffee table, dresser, lamp, stool, and arm chair all stood motionless, feet firmly planted on the slightly slanted wooden floor. Even the tiny package wrapped in brown paper that she had mistakenly received in the mail weeks ago was propped in the center of the coffee table, adamantly unopened. The little brown paper box was rather standard, maybe even a little boring, but Louise found it extremely suspicious that the appellation of the intended receiver was Lucifer Iblis. She considered this an omen and refused to open, discard or even destroy the box. Though the sealed and unmoved package was a harbinger of strangeness, it had with time become a consistent oddity that had conformed comfortably to the living space, and was therefore no longer an oddity at all. In fact, I am digressing from the actual peculiarity of that morning, which was that everything was exactly as it had never been before: upright, in place, and well ordered. Many things startled Louise that morning but none more so than the Japanese Noh mask of Magojiro that hung stably on the wall across from her little kitchenette. She noticed the woman’s beguiling smile from an angle she had never seen before since Louise was used to greeting the mask either by pulling it from underneath her bulky appendages, or seeing it from the bottom up, which fascinated her every time it so happened to be that kind of morning. What I mean by that kind of morning, and by all of this you see, is that Louise’s apartment had a strange way of scaling up and down overnight, causing her to wake up filling far too much space or barely any at all. This wasn’t an Alice in Wonderland situation though, because Louise hadn’t eaten either side of a mushroom, nor did she change sizes, it was the little studio on La rue de Notre-Dame-de-Nazareth that would shrink and grow, while Louise was merely an experiencer of the fluctuations.
By Jean Loup5 years ago in Fiction
Dagda's Cauldron
“No, sorry, you have me at a disadvantage. I do not know who you are nor where I am.” “My apologies, I have not been around a human in some time, I am out of practice.”
By Lolita Civic5 years ago in Fiction
Dagda's Cauldron
I sighed, looking at his hand on my thigh. I guess I am going on a quest. I was standing next to a stone, no longer a raven but a red silk dress fell over my leine. Just like the bed sheets, the dress was smooth to touch, an electric jolt going through my fingertips. I had never worn anything so elegantly beautiful or this colour before. I noticed that there was an inscription where the stone laid. I touched it as if it meant the whole world, that it was of some great importance. There was an inscription written, my voice barely audible as I read the words that was written. ‘Ni fallat fatum, scoti quoteunque locatum invenient lapiderm tenenter ibidem.’ Lia fail. ‘If fate tells truth, where are the stone is found, a prince of scotic race shall there be crowned’. ‘The coronation stone.’
By Lolita Civic5 years ago in Fiction
Fading Light
From what I was told, it happened on a chill, autumn evening; right when the tip of the sun vanished below the horizon. I can still remember the picturesque sunset: the remaining rays painted the edge of the sky a gentle pink, until the darkness of night slyly consumed the pretty color into a menacing purple-gray. I tried shriveling in my toddler seat, but no matter how low I got, the darkening atmosphere still watched me. “Daddy, it’s getting dark out. Can I have your phone to make it brighter?” My sister spoke out in the growing darkness.
By Veronica Therrien5 years ago in Fiction
The Hardest Decision in Life
Laughter bubbled from my lips. I didn’t know Abraham would have a sense of humor. “What would you do if I said I wanted to see the unicorns?”
By Amy Proebstel5 years ago in Fiction
~*Follow The Stars Home.~*
Rick stayed comfortably still as he observed the many twinkling stars that dressed the clear night skies within their diamond-encrusted like power that allowed for many watchers to survey the most tremendous beauty as the wind slightly picked his blonde hair up breathing out a sigh of relief. Night-time had come in the forest once his assignment was completed and had decided to come here to do some self-meditation instead of hanging out with the rest of the boys.
By Savanah Autman5 years ago in Fiction
~*Woman Of The Night~*
Night came rather quickly within the city of New York as the dozens of lights had soon sprung to life on the many skyscrapers that illuminated in all of its extraordinary yet dazzling glory. Due to the weather being chilly, seeing that it was the month of October, people were seen walking the streets or coming out of taxi cabs wearing their long trench coats and fall jackets to keep them warm and happy as they either said goodbye to the drivers or were just stepping down off of the city busses getting ready to head home to their apartments to gear back up for another busy workday that would be waiting for them by the morning. Many places were already closing up shop getting out the keys to lock up their owned establishments and some were taking their dogs out for their evening walks to get their last batch of exercise.
By Savanah Autman5 years ago in Fiction