Juniper Woodstone
Bio
An aspiring writer sharing her short-written pieces in both series and stand alone. I am hoping to one day publish my own book. I hope you enjoy reading my stories as much as I have enjoyed writing them.
Stories (29/0)
Widow's Box
The day her husband had died felt like the end of the world as she'd known it. In a way, it was. She had lost her partner, her lover, the father of her children, and the man she'd go home to after a long day at work. The rain drizzled down upon the umbrellas of the group crowded around his grave, muffling the sounds of sniffles and tears being wept by visitors.
By Juniper Woodstone3 years ago in Fiction
The Voice
It was a hot, brisk, summer evening. The birds were singing, children were laughing as they played in their seemingly safe streets. Morgana Nordstrom sat on her porch in quiet contentment, a glass of sweet iced tea in her hand. The perspiration from the glass dripped down to the wooden grain of her front stoop.
By Juniper Woodstone3 years ago in Fiction
Love at First Chocolatey Piece
I remember the day like it was yesterday. I was sitting in a diner off of Route 93, in some rinky dink little college town, my head pounding with a hangover as I sipped the hot black coffee from a mug. I had been looking out the window when I saw her pass by, my heart racing as my palms broke out into a sweat. Her coppery curls bounced as she walked and for a split second, I swear we had seen into each other's souls. Her bright green eyes held such promise and I swore my heart was going to beat itself out of my throat.
By Juniper Woodstone3 years ago in Fiction
Little Rain in Salem
The glowing fire of torches seemed to stretch for miles. The impending weather would not deter the mob any longer. They were after blood. Abigail’s eyes widened in fear as her demise quickly approached. Throwing back the curtains, she swallowed her fear before summoning her daughter. “Marjorie!” She called, her voice edged with fear.
By Juniper Woodstone3 years ago in Fiction
Anaria
Anaria gazed out across the wintry horizon, her fingers stinging with frost. Her breath was a fog before her eyes as she surveyed the countless empty buildings. The setting sun shimmered against the litter of broken glass, twinkling like glitter. Anaria rubbed her nose, warming it against the cold, as she watched for people.
By Juniper Woodstone3 years ago in Fiction