Young Adult
A Touch of the Ruthless
“You again,” Ellen said. About sixty yards away, in a tall pine to her right, perched on a white, gnarled branch that poked out like a broken bone, a hawk sat watching her. The bird was a beautiful bronze color, with tinges of blue in the tips of its wings. It stared fixedly at her in the morning quiet.
By Robert Hawes5 years ago in Fiction
A Vampire's Life - Part 1
4 July, 1600 The small fishing village was a lively place. Set along the northern coast of Prussia, in territory that the Romans had once called 'Germania', a couple of farms flanked it, and small merchant vessels lined the docks. The fishermen were out in their boats, hauling in their catches before the storm that was threatening the area struck. The sky was gray, filled with storm clouds heavy with rain, though it was not yet falling. Today was a special day in the village – it was Bastian Falkenrath's eleventh birthday and, as was typical of birthdays here, there was to be a big party.
By Bastian Falkenrath5 years ago in Fiction
Wide Awake
Hands all together reaching sky high, each palm piecing the red rose made by the sun casting its spell through a stained glass ceiling above. A golden glistion in all their eyes, tiny hearts hanging from a thread by the overgrown vines adorn with sharp thorns. Yet, when the fragile string breaks each fall bouncing off the palms that casts a shadow, hiding away the broken pieces that crashed against the cracked stone at their feet. There you stand, eyes blinking from the haze as fingers curl away from the Grand Rose. In the light, dancing dust of the red tint stone room full of people in rags, but in the dark where the red can’t reach is truth left ignored.
By Alcie Land5 years ago in Fiction
That Rusted Heart
We all dream, as often as we can. Even though we sometimes don't like what we see. There is a dark clouded child staring at me, from up top. My name is Caleb and I am in trouble. I know this because it's not usual to come to on a pebble beach, your head thumping, lungs burning with every wheeze and heave of your chest, whilst being glared at by a child with what seems to be a storm cloud thrashing above his head. Not usual at all.
By Andrew Sinclair5 years ago in Fiction
Rebecca and the Peacekeepers
New Secret Pen Pal: These relived journal memories are for you! The cold bedchamber reminds me of a mausoleum. When I find Mr. Cranston on the floor face down in his pajamas, I think the billionaire is dead, but he just fell. I struggle to get him back on the bed. He’s two hundred pounds. I weigh one forty-five.
By D. ALEXANDRA PORTER5 years ago in Fiction
A Thirst For Sun
Today was the day they’d decide. Laura stared down at what she could see of her reflection in the pool of water below. A constant drip of moisture off a stalactite gave her about one second every five seconds with which she could judge herself. Enough of the people around her emanated pity for the past year that she could guess where she’d be going today, but she pitied anyone her age. The pool blurred before her eyes until more water fell into it. She couldn’t see either way. Maybe if her face got puffy enough, she’d pass as average.
By Erin McNulty5 years ago in Fiction
Disappear
I found it in the dirt long after I was meant to be dead. Walking to the stream along the same path as always, my foot hit the locket. It hadn’t been there the day before. I would have noticed such an ugly thing. Heart-shaped and bright red, it had no place in the browns of the well-worn path or the deep greens of the underbrush. I picked it up, considering it for a moment in wonder before slipping it into my pocket. The rest of the walk, I was on high alert, my eyes open for any other irregularities. Somebody—or maybe something—had dropped this locket.
By Anna Harvey5 years ago in Fiction
Chased
The line for The Pirn spills into the cracked pavement of the streets. The air is thick with black smoke, only the buildings within the city walls still stand. Any sign of civilization outside the walls has long ago been erased. The line inches slowly forward and I send a quick prayer to The Imprinters. I press a kiss to my grandmother’s silver heart locket for luck. This morning when I said goodbye to my mother, I made certain to keep my tears in, but now they stream down my face. I keep my sobs inaudible, appearing weak in front of the crowd is not an option. The other people in the line wear no emotions, eyes trained to The Pirn and mouths in straight lines. I can’t remain calm knowing I could walk away today with the mark of a Chased One. Knowing my parents lead many Beast hunts causes my heart rate to relax, nobody in my family has ever received the dreaded skull. Yet I can’t stop the foreboding thoughts looming over me, promising a dreadful day.
By Rebekah Wills5 years ago in Fiction
