Keb Rogers
Bio
I am a writer who focuses primarily in the science fiction and fantasy genres. I'm excited to share my ideas, stories, and worlds with you all! I look forward to the feedback from this lovely community's vast sea of talented writers.
Stories (12/0)
Good Memories
Every morning for the past six years Henry has walked through the Havenwood forest alone. He wore a loose-fitting button up shirt tucked into slacks, and in his hand a picture of his late wife, Lora, smiling with a glow warmer than the Sun. She was out here somewhere in the woods; he was sure of it. People just don’t disappear into thin air, and the cancer in her pancreas wouldn’t have allowed her to travel far, but she vanished this exact day six years before. No trace, no footprints, nothing. Just gone.
By Keb Rogers12 days ago in Fiction
- Top Story - April 2024
Winds that BindTop Story - April 2024
Under an iron sky, a silver-leafed dragon holds the key to peace. A hailstorm of burning of the Frellian force’s unceasing rage slams against the Golden Dome. Each impact forces the wavy currents of hazy, golden air to scatter erratically for a moment before returning to their perpetual breeze. Each impact fuels my urge to run, but leaving would only ensure the fate I wish to avoid. Licking flames dance just outside the protective haze, like worshipers before the Great Khal during ceremony. The fires closest to the dome burn the brightest. Stacks and stacks of bodies, the men, women, and children from lesser castes, field workers and farmhands who couldn’t afford city life pile against the translucent golden wall. The surprise assault afforded little time to evacuate from the countryside and into the city. Charred hands reach and beg for sanctuary, the guilt of survival is heavy against my soul. Even in death, they worship the Great Khal, the only one who may grant their entrance to the afterlife, their God King, their supposed protector. If he falls, the souls of Marowar are forfeit, destined to wander listless wastes of the grey. They will be nothing more than experiments, playthings for the devious Frellian shamans to tinker with --- a fate far worse than death.
By Keb Rogers4 months ago in Fiction
Paid Off
I despise crowded stores now that I’m older. I feel the dominating weight of anxiety roll off me like boulders down a hillside when I feel the air’s gentle greeting upon exit. The relief is short however, the sweltering Georgia heat grips my throat and paints my back with sweat. The untamed chaos within the store muddled my mind and I can’t remember where I parked. A large Chevy Suburban passes me, the pilates mom clutching her tumbler probably filled with wine scowls at me when I finally walk to the other side of the street. I am all for the haste of general errands, but this woman’s face was so scrunched that one could have been convinced she smelled fresh garbage. I hold my keys in the air, pressing the lock button that would prompt the horn of my car. Still nothing. Am I that far away?
By Keb Rogers8 months ago in Fiction
Seek and Destroy
Purpose is a funny thing. We were all made to join the war effort, but we were not all meant to find ourselves in its cause. Perhaps I am biased to my station, but let me say, there are so many tired mouths I have heard speak of their longing for home and the end of war. While I can’t argue with their logic, I can resent their burning desire for someone else to end it for them. Their faces are long and weary and pained by the inevitability of untimely death or unremembered service. To them, all they were – all their worth – was but a number and their initials on a page without even the decency of writing their full name upon this ledger of Britain's sacrifice. Still, I often found myself wondering why I wanted to wake up and penetrate skies riddled with so many offenders of peace and prosperity. It may have been my hate for the detestable, despicable Nazi regime or my unwavering sense of national pride for our great motherland of Britain; no, I always came to the same conclusion: it was the skies, my terrible love for the freedom above that only the clouds could bestow.
By Keb Rogers9 months ago in History
1:30 PM
There was no such thing as rest in Cala – only the clanging of swords, the felling of foes, and the excitement of spoils fueled its adventurers. Cala’s dusty pathways sliced through the thick woodlands, riddled with snarling creatures and terrible beasts for the hunters to kill and pillage their useful bits to aid them on their quest to attain the pinnacle of glory: killing Volaris, The Demon King, atop the dormant volcano known as Hell’s Wake. Leena hoped she would one day have the chance to smite this monstrosity and save the lands from his terror, but today, she sat leaning against a large oak tree, as she had done so many days before, unable to move.
By Keb Rogersabout a year ago in Fiction
PROJECT: Oracle
We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. The drive hadn’t been terrible, apart from my growing worry that our tired BMW wouldn’t be able to power through the declining weather. I hadn’t been on a vacation in years and couldn’t wait to unwind — I knew Sally and Ember had been excited, too. I opened my car door to a rush of swirling chill and snowy confetti bursting through with the cold, crisp air that stung my nostrils as I deeply inhaled. I stood up and dramatically stretched my arms out wide with another loud inhale, my body rejuvenated from the chilled nectar of unbothered mountain air.
By Keb Rogersabout a year ago in Horror
Syllogí
No one ever told me how comfortable the inside of a Rolls Royce could be. The thought wasn’t something that kept me up at night either, purely because it wasn’t something I had ever imagined would happen. The soft hums of a violin and then of a cello find my ears in the spacious backseat despite the light drizzle and crowded streets. Drops of rain run across the tinted glass — some are panicked on their path and some are controlled, mirroring the dueling emotions within me.
By Keb Rogersabout a year ago in Fiction
Aftermath
Roaring with fury Incensed by Earth's reveille Unburdened, you rest
By Keb Rogersabout a year ago in Poets
Blameless
The red lament of the setting sun is a promise always fulfilled. Its bladed fangs pierce through the dense, glimmering canopy of the Lumos Wood, a massive forest bisecting the domineering continent of Anpherial. The slick skin of the leaves reflecting the morose light from the sun above conjures a sea of sparkling, red, mirror-like reflections along the canopy surface, save for one portion. Deep in the expansive interior lies a darkened teardrop cut into monochromatic sheen. Tails of smoke rise from edges outlined with the hungry darkness peeking beneath the canopy. Roots tear from the ground raised skyward with ashen edges, shattered trees scattered in ruin. Molten blood drips from scattered branches and upended roots, flaring intermittently. A massive, scaled mound lays at the smoldering crater’s apex.
By Keb Rogersabout a year ago in Fiction