Fantasy
Waypoint
My boots crunched loudly as I made my way across the sun dried grass, hearing the cicadas scream out their war cries into the fading light of twilight, heading toward the old barn. The once red paint faded and chipped away to a sun bleached pink in some spots, while most of the walls were nothing more then weather worn planks. I never thought I'd be back here, never thought I'd even be contemplating stepping foot inside that rickety barn ever again. On the outside it looked like one stiff breeze might blow the whole thing down, but I knew the truth of what lay behind those tightly closed doors.
By S. R. Jenkins 5 years ago in Fiction
Survivor
Her hands trembled. Exhaustion racked her body. Dusty air choked her lungs as cobwebs clung to her hair and face. The skin on her hands was cracked and bleeding, her muscles groaning in protest of every movement. Her clothes were torn and the pack she wore held on by the merest threads. Her rifle lay at her feet, its stock cracked, its ammunition spent. She sat against the rotting beams of the hayloft she cowered in, sucking in air, trying to stifle every cough and groan. Her body begged her to rest, to cease its struggle, to simply drift off into unconsciousness. But she could not, for it was still out there, and she knew it would come for her soon.
By Chris Restoule5 years ago in Fiction
Oculus
Frannie absently scratched at her neck disturbing the sweaty curls that stuck to it. The trail she walked was old but following the faint path allowed her the opportunity to think. The last week had been miserable, she was hot and hungry and filthy, but she was safe. Her days were filled with relentless walking and parched landscape, the nights were uncomfortable out in the open and the quality of sound in the darkness was fearful without the barrier that even a thin blanket would provide. She had hoped that at some point she might find some linens hanging on a line snapping cheerfully in a soft breeze, but the intense humidity kept the clothes lines empty. This disappointment had Frannie wrinkling her brow and deciding her number one priority was to find a place to shelter.
By Sarah Snider5 years ago in Fiction
Strange Bouquet
The bouquet of yellow flowers on his bed were what Wyatt was expecting. Marigolds, if memory served him right. Beautiful flowers that he constantly got in October and always on his pillow. For what? He had no real idea. It all started when he was around eighteen years old. With absolutely no card or anything on them. Just the flowers laid neatly on top of his pillow.
By Raphael Fontenelle5 years ago in Fiction
Deathjaw
In a tavern long ago was told a pirate tale, but for this story it’s hard to say exactly how to begin. Many claim this legend is false, but many swear it’s true. It’s a story that’s been passed down from sailor to sailor, a story that was told by Pirates.
By Stephen Portis5 years ago in Fiction
The Legend of Elsie
Tom sits, pen poised over the page in his new little black notebook. There are several paragraphs written, then crossed out. He pushes the dining chair away from the kitchen table in his short-term rental apartment. "My story has no life in it, and I don't know what to do with it," he thinks, running his hands through his thinning hair. Adam gave me his winning lottery ticket so I could finish this book. I have no more excuses, maybe I've just been deluding myself that all I needed was time and money —"
By @choosethesmiles5 years ago in Fiction
Bwạwyd the Earthmother
"At the beginning of the world grew a single Pear Tree. From its fruit was born the moon and stars and all their offspring and, from it came forth the first woman: rich as ebony with hair like the night sky. From her womb grew all earthly things: men and their children; the birds and the earthbound; the crops and creeping things and all the earth's wonders. The woman chose a man for her mate-- this one twined through the skill of her hands --and through him they had many children. But his eyes were wandering and his heart devious. He dreamt of things not of the earth, and planned to slay the woman and gain her power, so that he might remake the world in his own image; bright and burning, like his furious heart. He did not know that the woman's power was of the Tree, and thus immutable. It could not be either lost or gained.
By Elizabeth Noyes5 years ago in Fiction
