Anastasia J Cleveringa
Bio
Fantasy extradinoire
Master of feels
Writing to write
Dungeon Master on weekends
Stories (4/0)
The Tiger's Eyes
I walk the world, marveling at its beauty but only from the stories I’ve been told and never by my own witness. The tiger is by far the most majestic and I ask for its story as often as my friends are willing to tell me. Though I was born without sight I can picture the striped rings on its throat, like a distinguished collar that separates it from the other animals. A tapestry of contrasting colors, the orange background painted with a weave of black unique to every single one. Its stripes merge with the tall grasses of its home and like a mirage it disappears from view, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.
By Anastasia J Cleveringaabout a year ago in Fiction
Halloween; Kin
Happy Halloween There once was a jack-o-lantern but it wasn’t just any jack-o-lantern. Upon a farm there lived a young boy of 9 or 10 with messy hair, freckles, and a missing tooth grin. His name was Jeffrey. Of all the times of the year, Autumn was his favorite, the changing colors of the leaves, the holiday of Halloween at the end of the month, and most importantly the pumpkin carving. For you see Jeffrey was lonely, his farm was so far away from the town he rarely saw other kids his age and when he did at the school they weren’t very fond of him. But when October came around and the harvests came in he could have as many friends as he wanted. All it took was a few pumpkins and some silly faces and Jeffrey was one of the happiest kids in the world. But this year was different, just faces were not quite enough anymore so something special would be done. A single pumpkin nice and round almost perfect was selected from the harvest, it was gutted and then a gentle face was carved in it. Two oval eyes, a tiny triangle nose, and a two-toothed smile happy and kind. Jeffrey then took two sticks and like his grandfather showed him before tied them together with twine to make the frame of a scarecrow; a rather tiny one no bigger than a child. Taking one of his old shirts with a two-button collar and collared sleeves in a dusty blue color he put it on the frame stuffing it with straw and giving the scarecrow his old mittens. With his grandfather’s help, the bottom of the main stick was split in two and widened out, and tied with twine for legs. The scarecrow got some brown pants stuffed with straw and a few lengths of twined between the belt loops to keep it up. With the placement of its head, the pumpkin friend was complete and Jeffrey was happy.
By Anastasia J Cleveringaabout a year ago in Horror
The Storm's Gift
The Storm’s Gift A storm is a fickle thing. The myriad of clouds fluctuate and shift with the winds, sometimes rising, building into a dense blockade in the sky as dark as the deepest ravine. Rumbling so violently the ground trembles with each crack, the darkness splitting with spreading fingers of light and static stretched across the sky. Torrential sheets pound across the undergrowth over and over, forcing the animals to hide in their deepest burrows and bow their heads against the force while the trees bend threatening to break.
By Anastasia J Cleveringaabout a year ago in Fiction
Greyscale
The World was grey. Though it was better to call it monochrome as the grey varied from place to place but was empty and flat all the same. Even the sky never shifts from dark grey even as the clouds scroll by though I’m told it once used to be bright and blue. I could not picture it for I did not know what blue is.
By Anastasia J Cleveringa3 years ago in Fiction