Brigitte Bennet
Bio
Writing first and foremost for fun, I've been dabbling in creative writing since childhood. Recently I've been working on developing two of my old novel ideas, as well as experimenting with writing a few shorter stories to improve my style.
Stories (10/0)
When the world became round
This story, while it can be read as standalone, was written as a creation myth for the world of the Symmetry Saga, a 3-Season D&D Campaign by D&Dorks. It does contain major spoilers for the series finale, so should you be considering watching this campaign (which I, the author, would highly recommend), I would not read this until afterwards.
By Brigitte Bennet9 months ago in Fiction
Sacrifice
Of my country and of my family I have little to say. They are so wholly removed from this tale beyond being the cause of its beginning that I prefer to dwell on them as little as is possible in the telling. We lived in Ariadne, which was a quiet little town mostly undisturbed by magic. The few mages who lived there never much developed their power, and when a source of great power appeared near the town’s borders none knew what to make of it besides that left alone it would cause no harm. But our Mayor thought differently, and having no magic hoped to gain great power from being it’s guardian. Unfortunately for him, he did: but it was a curse upon the town, and did not have the effect he would have wished.
By Brigitte Bennet2 years ago in Fiction
The Tale of a Lobster
A sensible man once told me a strange tale about lobsters. Now understand he was not a mysterious stranger that I met on the street, some wandering old man from a fable with a stringy beard forcing upon me a story about sea creatures he believed would change my life. This tale came from a man I know, a born storyteller, the kind of person who has a way of capturing the attention of their audience and making any tale stay with you. But I remember this one more than most.
By Brigitte Bennet2 years ago in Motivation
Change
“Change is gonna come” proclaims the song that is my morning alarm, rousing me from sleep. I roll over and groan at the bright sun streaming through the window as I hit ‘Dismiss’ and the phone goes silent. I reply to the message from my sister before I stand and pull on the clean uniform hung ready on the bedroom door. Black pants, green shirt, brown jacket, white shoes with green laces. As I walk to my kitchen my cat circles my legs and I tell her “Breakfast time!” I fetch my tea and porridge, and feed Artemis, and walk to my little balcony to eat and watch the morning customers of the bakery. Mary gets a blueberry muffin and a black coffee, then opens her florist shop next door. It’s Monday, so Jason gets one loaf of white bread and two custard tarts, then heads back towards home. The baker flirts with the English teacher by giving him a sausage roll for half price. The teacher doesn’t notice, that’s his usual price. The baker’s daughter eats a fresh apple Danish while he’s distracted. I finish my porridge as my cat comes through the cat-flap to join me, sitting in her favourite patch of sun. I finish my tea and walk to work. “Hey John!” greets my co-worker. “How’s Anna enjoying New York?” I tell him my sister likes it the same as she did when he asked yesterday and pick up my first tour group. I finish work and head home, another Monday the same as the rest. I sigh and wonder when the sound of my morning alarm will no longer feel mocking.
By Brigitte Bennet2 years ago in Humans
The Final Girl
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. I let my friends draw ahead of me as we slowly approached, almost everything in me screaming to tell them all to run, to get us out of this horror movie before it began.
By Brigitte Bennet2 years ago in Fiction
The Dragon Witch
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. When my great-grandfather was growing up, it was an empty place: a place that children made up stories about, listing countless monsters that must live there beneath the skeletal shadows of long-dead trees. And in my grandmother’s time the monsters were said to be the trees themselves – if you got too close they’d reach out and grab you, pulling you in until you became a gruesome new addition to their branches. I even still have a few memories from when I was very young of tales my parents told to warn my sister and I to stay away, telling us of ancient spirits that hid there, longing to walk among the living again and ready to trick us into exchanging our soul for theirs. I remember peering cautiously out into the thick fog that would creep across the town on cold winter mornings before dashing towards the safety of the glowing light emanating from my mother’s forge, constantly checking behind me for spirits that could have strayed into our town on a day like this.
By Brigitte Bennet2 years ago in Fiction
