Jericho Osborne
Bio
I am a writer with a passion for fiction, sci-fi, and fantasy.
My ultimate goal is to have have my readers enjoy themselves, and to take away something meaningful from my work.
Stories (14/0)
Rip-Tide
Francis walks the short distance from his office to the city aquarium. He used to take his lunch there, but over the years his visits became less and less, as he has less and less time to spend. At least that is the way he feels. He remembers the sense of awe and splendor he had as a child, peering through the glass watching the tropical fish dart about. But, that was a long time ago and he is older now.
By Jericho Osborneabout a year ago in Fiction
Fuji
Pinnical of Stone Uniting Heaven and Earth Lonely Eternal
By Jericho Osborneabout a year ago in Poets
The Banishing Blade
“There weren’t always dragons in the valley, in fact there was nothing. In the time before, there was only the salted water of the oceans across the face of Terra-Arna, but then came the dragons. They brought forth The Rushing Mountains out of the oceans, and birthed the very lands and fields that we stand upon. When they were finished washing away the water, raising the mountains, and molding the earth, the dragons came to rest in the great valley – The Life Forge. In that valley they gave birth to all the creatures great and small and sent them across the continent to live and be fruitful. Then one by one, the five great dragons fell asleep, and one by one they awoke and flew across the world from whence they came, for all but one – Sigur the Rested. When the dragon awoke it found that it was alone, and trapped for a great tree had grown upon it’s back. Sigur’s wings were entangled in the roots of the Drekatré and was buried in the earth. At the foot of the tree, Sigur’s head lay. From Sigur’s mouth came the peoples of Terra-Arna: Maður, Álfar, Dvergar, Risastór, and Hrökkáll. . . Orin, are you listening boy!”
By Jericho Osborne2 years ago in Fiction
The Night Owl
I stand in front of a white sheet draped over a shapely figure displayed on the embalming slab. The chill of the morgue runs up my spine as the mortician removes the sheet. As the cover is pulled away, I recognize the face of the deceased immediately. Her auburn hair caresses the fair skin along her high cheekbones. Her lush lips are still covered by the ruby rouge lipstick that she had left on my collar. Her perfume pierces the stench of formaldehyde bringing me back to the evening when her vivacious silhouette filled my doorway.
By Jericho Osborne2 years ago in Fiction
The Adventures of Logan van Zant: CH IV
Poseidon’s Mistress ebbs as the water of the Mediterranean laps against its hull. Logan looks out across the water; in the distance is their destination – Crete. Henry approaches and leans against the bow. “Told ya ten hours or less, didn’t I?” Henry laughs.
By Jericho Osborne3 years ago in Fiction
The Adventures of Logan van Zant: CH III
Pigeons fly in haste as the Fiat slams to a halt on Patision Street. Logan’s knuckles are white from gripping the door handle. He looks at Aurora from the passenger seat; she looks back at him with a smile, “What’s the look for?”she asks.
By Jericho Osborne3 years ago in Fiction
Adventures of Logan van Zant: CH II
The props of the Boeing 377 Stratocruiser kick on. A soft hum fills the cabin. Logan and Aurora sit in their seats awaiting take-off. Aurora flips through a magazine while Logan looks out the window. The hum of the engines reminds him of the countless hours of flight time and parachute jumps preparing for D-Day. His life in the Army Airborne Infantry was a time of fervor and terror. He looks across the wing; he remembers how his Gooney Bird was riddled with holes over Normandy, and how lucky he was to be alive. “How did any of us survive,” he mutters to himself.
By Jericho Osborne3 years ago in Fiction
The Adventures of Logan van Zant
He places the brown package on the office desk. The parcel is a cigar box wrapped in weathered paper and frayed twine. Export stamps from Europe and the Americas are peppered across it. “What did Cornelius send this time?” he thought. The package is addressed to: Professor Logan van Zant, Brown University, History Dept.,Providence, Rhode Island, United States; From: Uncle Cornelius, Parts Unknown. “Parts unknown? Always the eccentric, Uncle,” Logan laughs. He often receives oddities from his uncle’s adventures from across the world.
By Jericho Osborne3 years ago in Fiction
A Just Dessert
Nineteen Thirty-three, the height of the depression. Hitler had taken power in Germany, U.S. unemployment was at its peak, and Darla was married to Bruce. The Twenties’ had been the pinnacle of Darla’s youth. While the lounge-lizards and dames were drunk in the speakeasies, and gangsters played with the police, Bruce was busy chasing Darla. In those days, Bruce spoke words of love and desire, he would touch her gently, and he was sober. But, those days were gone. Bruce picked up the bottle the day prohibition ended, and was an abusive ogre there after.
By Jericho Osborne3 years ago in Fiction
