Faith Guptill
Bio
Being a writer is one of the last tasks on my bucket list. A delayed passion that I hope to realize.
Stories (14/0)
CIB 11
Nobody can hear you scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. That sounded perfect to CIB11. They had heard enough screams today. CIB11 looked forward to living in the vast emptiness of space. They could imagine being wrapped by nothingness; a bubble of silence they could float in. CIB11 pondered their choice to be part of the New Hive. The serenity of space would surely calm them.
By Faith Guptill2 years ago in Futurism
Tick Tock
The cabin in the woods had been vacant for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The candle signaled to everyone who knew, that she was back: from the deepest recesses of a rotted jungle, the highest cold mountain, the longest winding river or the tea scented orient. She was back. If you were brave enough, you could go to her cabin and listen to her stories; stories that haunted you, stories that never left you, stories that sometimes came true. So, everyone said.
By Faith Guptill2 years ago in Horror
Tess 16201c
There weren't always dragons in the valley. They were brought from Tess 16201b. It seemed like such a good idea-to them. The dragons were beautiful really; strong and muscular, black purple with glittering highlights of lavender. Terra Draco Volans Grandis were what they called them. It's a shame to have to kill them all.
By Faith Guptill2 years ago in Fiction
Spirit Lake
My change was so innocent, peaceful even. Not at all like the beginning of the end of Mount St. Helens. To understand my incarnation, I suppose I should explain the violence that happened before my birth: the eruption of Mt. St. Helens. In one instant, May 18th, 1980, she blasted out 23 square miles of rock, mud and debris; a hot, steaming avalanche that reached 300 mph, killing 61 people, most of which landed in Spirit Lake. What didn't land in Spirit Lake was washed back down into the lake by an 850-foot wave. All in all, about 430,000,000 cubic meters of pyrolyzed trees, organic matter (including human), volcanic ash and debris landed in Spirit Lake: my lake.
By Faith Guptill2 years ago in Horror
The Golden Pear
The golden pear weighed as heavy in his hand as it did on his mind. A chill ran up his spine, as it always did whenever the aroma of burnt cinnamon floated around his head. This phenomenon only occurred when doubt crossed curiosity and truth eluded him. August slowly turned the pear over to stare even closer to the swastika stamped on the bottom of the pear, embedded in the gold.
By Faith Guptill3 years ago in Fiction
Thin Ice
The world was not perfect to Nilda, so she had to make herself perfect in the world. She looked at herself in the mirror and whispered, "Try harder. You can do this. It has to be perfect." Slowly she raised her right arm up, graceful, like a ballerina and pointed to the ceiling with her index finger. Then she did it again and again, still not satisfied with the way her hand unfolded. She studied the pictures she printed of famous hands as she compared them to hers. Michelangelo's God hands were her favorite. Hers were still not perfect.
By Faith Guptill3 years ago in Fiction
The Green Egg
Nobody witnessed my arrival; a small glimmer of green falling from the heavens. I fell into the boiling seas as a Phoenix tail of fire streaked behind me. Like the Phoenix, I am immortal. Every five hundred years I re-live another five hundred years, each time stronger than the last. For 3.5 billion years I have survived, and you are the witness to all I have done. I was your life and your death, do not judge me harshly for what was done, cannot be undone.
By Faith Guptill3 years ago in Fiction
Insemination
The handsome, strapping black bull stood alone. Ho hum. He pawed the ground to smell the dirt; it held more appeal than the cows off in the distance. He was done with them. He never went back for seconds. Greener pastures were what he wished for, perchance, fresh tail.
By Faith Guptill3 years ago in Filthy
Melaney Joy
Home is not a house. I've lived in many houses, none of them were home. You said you wanted to hear my story? Well then, follow me, I'm expected around the walk of fame. If I don't show, my friends will worry. Let's see, I was eighteen when I first landed in the land of Hollywood. It is destiny that I am here. I have the perfect name: Melaney Joy. I can sing like my name; I have the looks and ambition to make it in Hollywood. I caught your eye, didn't I?
By Faith Guptill3 years ago in Fiction
Mahogany
Eliza Leslie, a comely woman, albeit rotund, struggled with the starched linen apron she adorned. The white apron starched to stiffness fought back as she struggled to tie the bow behind her back. She leaned against the massive wood baker's table to hold the apron in place. Usually, she enjoyed the quiet wee hours of the morning in the kitchen. Today, she would have welcomed the helpful hands of one of her students. To ease her frustration, she mumbled the words of one of her favorite authors, Walt Whitman:
By Faith Guptill3 years ago in Fiction