Arthur Caliga
Bio
"I was a boy when I first realized that the fullest live liveable was a poet's"-Wilfred Owen.
I am a voice within the unknown; I started writing when I was very young. My dream is to become a full-time writer like Walt Whitman and Owen.
Stories (9/0)
Time
The portal closes behind the warrior, and he looks up to see the dragon staring back at him. A brute of a man, eyes blue as an ocean staring into the grey, watery eyes of an old dragon until finally, the dragon lets out a long breath. The warm air was blowing in the man’s direction along with volcanic winds, the smell of sulfur hanging in the air, and viscous flows of lava all around. The two stared at one another for what seemed like an eternity, silent words upon hushed lips. Finally, the dragon spoke.
By Arthur Caliga about a year ago in Fiction
Unseen
Mystic Pines tavern was always busy and bustling. Captains and fishermen found spots for their crew, and Old-Time Timmy was always watching from the bar with his eyes at people coming. The door creaked open, and an urbane-looking gentleman came in, beautiful pea coat, acceptable slacks, and well-dressed oxfords; he was not a fisherman. He looked over to the window where a lone sailor sat, staring out into the Atlantic Ocean.
By Arthur Caliga 3 years ago in Fiction
The Room-Walker
This story I will tell you can believe me or call me some nut-job that is your choice, but what I have been experiencing the past twelve years all comes from personal experience. It all begins back in 2009, I was 16, and my brother was 20, 21, and he and his boyfriend were living with my mother and me at the time. Our family supposidly has lots of history regarding the paranormal, hearing voices that we hear but others don't, seeing shadows around the corner only for them to disappear or catching something from the corner of our eyes, and then it vanishes, but this night was different.
By Arthur Caliga 3 years ago in Horror
Diary of Amnesia
2108, 26th April I stand in this place in a building high in the sky, the town where the dead do not speak, where the ground does not grow, and the sun creates radioactive sunsets. I can see a monster in the distance, the stack, and a coffin buried beneath rubble; sometimes when I wake up at night, I can see a blue glow, and I sometimes think to myself (What was beneath that coffin, why does it spew that blue glow?). This happened long ago, so long ago, and now after the events of the war, the world has descended into darkness. Around my neck is this locket, shaped like a heart, but I cannot remember why I am wearing it? And why can’t I remember the combination, a 4-digit number, but what was it? Perhaps if I sleep tonight, I will wake up tomorrow with the memory of what it was.
By Arthur Caliga 3 years ago in Fiction
I lost my brother, how did I deal with his loss?
It has been six years since my brother died, I was 22, and he was 27. I'm now 28, and every day, I continue to ask why did he go? Why did he die, and why has he left me all alone? My mother only had two children, my brother and me, and now I'm all that's left. I'm the black sheep of my family; I only speak to my mother and grandmother, and the rest outcast me because of the choices I have made in my life.
By Arthur Caliga 3 years ago in Families
Upon the Loft
It is funny to imagine that I would be using dating websites to find someone to either spend one night with or the rest of my life but, here we are. I enter my name, age, ethnicity, and all the other little tidbits of information, and I get a selection of people, but there was one person who caught my eye. She had dirty black hair, beautiful brown eyes, and a smile that would warm the coldest heart, and her name as well was just symphonic. I press "LIKE" on the page, and the notification is away, but she is popular among the site, and I am not like these other men my friends show me,
By Arthur Caliga 3 years ago in Humans
