Amber Zajec
Bio
I have always loved the art of story telling. The magic of words and how they can create new worlds and people.
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Stories (27/0)
Drawing the Map
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. Well, it’s more of a captain's quarters than a room and more of a port hole than a window. Through that port hole window was a constant view of the ocean. Every once in a while, the view would change to the landscape of one of the many islands where the ship has docked. One island was all rock and desert, while another had cliffs so high that they swallowed the sun, but most had white sands and thick forests of palm. She never walked on these islands because she stayed in the captain's quarters below the deck. She had the company of a desk, a four-poster bed, and an overflowing bookshelf.
By Amber Zajecabout a year ago in Fiction
The Moon Kissed Girl
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. I would like to say that I have shown her only the beauty of this world. She does not know that I watch her every night and that I am the one that casts the magic of light and illusions into the night sky. Every day when the sun sets, I ensure that I am here waiting. I wait for her pale moon-kissed face to pop into the window's frame. Her eyes are stripped of color, along with her hair. Her skin is pale, and in the light of my magic, she shimmers like the crystals within the caves just a few miles from here. She is moon kissed. Unable to walk in the sun. At least, that is what I am told. I am also told that she is dangerous. I don’t see how; she never leaves the Master’s house. She seems more trapped than dangerous—a bird in a cage with no way to spread the wings given to them at birth.
By Amber Zajecabout a year ago in Fiction
Cinnamon Waffles
The smell of childhood sweeps across the air, awakening all those within reach. It is the smell of cinnamon waffles, a smell so familiar as if I had stepped into a picture frame, with my mother laughing in the kitchen making cinnamon-covered waffles, cutting fresh strawberries, and brewing vanilla coffee. The windows are open, letting every last drop of sunlight into the room, lighting up the bloomed yellow daffodils that filled every corner of the room—somehow, the yellow daffodils bloomed year-round. A light string of jazz music fills the air bringing the mood of an old black-at-white movie.
By Amber Zajecabout a year ago in Families
Dark Vessel
I am dragged onto the dark ship with no fear stirring in my belly. I know I should fear this vessel and be terrified of the big black sails and the smell of tar and stardust dominating it. The Dark NebulaI is a ship feared by all but not by me. No, I am taken away by the beauty of it. The fact that something so evil is so beautiful. The dark black wood with strands of silver blood flows through its dark helm, making the ship come alive with mysterious dark power. The sails are covered with immense feathers that shine in the moonlight. The feathers are in many shades of black, yet all equal to their darkness. However, the crew did not match the beauty of the ship. They look as if they have crawled out of the cave they have been trapped in for centuries. With thick layers of dirt that crumbled off them as they walked, their clothes torn and their faces distorted. The only neat thing they have on them is their swords that glisten in the moonlight. I make it to the deck, and above me stands a dark figure. I don't even have to guess who it is. It's the captain.
By Amber Zajecabout a year ago in Fiction
The Secret to a Happy Life.
There is something about walking around a busy place after everyone goes home. There is a sense of abandonment. The rush of people hurrying about to get where they are going is gone—even the people sitting and talking about life. The world is empty, and all left is life's bones.
By Amber Zajec2 years ago in Humans
Shower Slurg
I have never liked presents, which is weird for a lot of people. They always ask why. Why say no to free stuff? But if you want to give someone something, Like you truly wanted to give them something. Just give it to them. Don’t wait for a birthday, Christmas, or New Year. Whenever really. Life is too short to worry about presents.
By Amber Zajec2 years ago in Fiction