David White
Bio
Author of six novels, twelve screenplays and numerous short scripts. Two decades as a professional writer, creating TV/radio spots for niche companies (Paul Prudhomme, Wolverine Boots) up to major corporations (Citibank, The TBS Network).
Achievements (1)
Stories (32/0)
“Stealing The Mirror of Stolen Lives”
The party of five adventurers sat around a magnificent feast, laid out across a grassy knoll, about a mile from the dark bulk that the locals nicknamed Castle Nightmare. The sun had set, the Darkmoon had not yet risen, and though the sumptuous meal would have been a joyous occasion to many in the Land, an air of caution lay across the group.
By David White2 years ago in Fiction
"Sabotage on the Lightning Wyrm"
“The levitrains are a dream come true,” said Micklebur, a mage in smart purple business attire. His book-strewn office was cramped under the best of circumstances. But on this morning, it had five other occupants, all of different sizes and shapes, wearing wildly different gear. Despite their differences, each of the five wore a small metallic-green wyvern pin on their cloaks, a sign of their membership in the renowned mercenary group known as the Wyverns .
By David White2 years ago in Fiction
"The Horde of Jih'Callas"
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. But one now certainly occupied the Sunset Spire, the peak that stood like a silent sentinel at the distant end of the Valley. The drake erupted from the entrance every few suns, skirted the tops of the vast forest that spread out across the lands, then returned with a beast or two for its dinner.
By David White2 years ago in Fiction
"One Must Die"
On a moonless, pitch-black night, a black enameled carriage drawn by four black horses pulled up quietly to a quay in the Southampton dockyards. It was met by five men: four burly dockhands who didn’t say a word, and a surprisingly sturdy, well-dressed fellow, tall and muscular with a hungry look in his eyes.
By David White2 years ago in Fiction
“The Mind Vise”
The afternoon crowd at the Blue Muon, the hottest eat-drink-and-inhale spot in New Angeles, rested in that daily lull between the wave of late night-traders, fresh off their shifts of buying and selling on the Asian markets, and the impending rush of chip-wranglers from nearby Silicon Shores that had not yet arrived. So the two huddled figures in the back booth, an African-Aussia male and a Euro-Indian female, had the place almost all to themselves.
By David White2 years ago in Fiction
"The Last Ride of the Deathmobile"
Despite what you may believe, the following story is completely true. It happened just as I describe it here. And as the subtitle explains, the event nearly led to my death, or at the very least, certainly lengthy hospital recuperation combined with many thousands of dollars of facial reconstruction.
By David White3 years ago in Humans
"Not Your Average Job"
I love my job because, at the end of each day, I know I’m still alive. And that puts all other jobs to shame. When an average person gets up to go to work, they lay out their clothes, maybe take a shower and spend some time in front of the mirror, have a bowl of cereal alongside toast and juice, gather the items they’ll need for work, and kiss their family goodbye.
By David White3 years ago in Earth
"The Lessons of the Pair Tree"
A young Boy wandered away from his home, and his chores, one clear sunny morning. The warming Day whispered to him and implored him, saying, “Come and explore the distant lands with me, and I promise you an adventure worthy of any punishment your Elders might inflict for such a dalliance.”
By David White3 years ago in Fiction
"Making Room"
The four rose early that wintery Christmas morning. Daniel had slept downstairs on one of the oversized couches, whiles his three teenage children slept around him on the floor, in a mix of sleeping bags, extra couch cushions, and quilts. Daniel’s old St. Bernard, Clairveau, acted as pillow for Laney, his youngest, while his older son Caleb vied with the dog for the loudest snore. Jenny, the in-between daughter, was the earliest to rise, and simply hugged her dad until he stumbled to his feet.
By David White3 years ago in Fiction
"Green Fireballs"
Air Force Staff Sergeant Gerald Wilkins marched stiffly into Kirtland Air Base Debriefing Room A-113, empty but for a single metal table and three equally uncompromising metal chairs. The base had been upgraded the previous year, 1947, with funds left over from a World War II allocation, but comfort didn’t seem to be a priority during the upgrade.
By David White3 years ago in Fiction