Kimberly Kookendoffer
Stories (6/0)
The Last
The air was warm as it weaved through her red hair. Too bad. Fall was her favorite. She wouldn’t feel that cool air ever again. At least she’d get one last sunset. Swirls of purples, pinks, and oranges expanded out in front of her. A front row seat to the end of the day. Her end.
By Kimberly Kookendoffer11 months ago in Fiction
Dragon Walker
Lost The wind was cool as her wings glided through the air. She preferred a warmer breeze, most dragons did, but they, the mature ladies got stuck with the evening fly overs. They did their duties – raised new generations and then got put on the least liked patrol schedule. But, at least she got to fly. Eelou dove down, choosing to do a full spin as her wings stretched to their full length. Her violet scales caught some of the remaining sunlight, sending tiny rainbows cascading down to the trees below. This was her happy place.
By Kimberly Kookendofferabout a year ago in Fiction
His Name Was Biscuit
The rescue group named him Biscuit – a skinny, mostly white, one-eyed miniature poodle mix who had had a rough start to life. While a cute name, he didn’t quite look like a Biscuit. He was a bit unsure of himself at first, but it didn’t take long for his spunk to shine through. Biscuits, generally, are not spunky. My husband thought Rugby was a much better name for this new addition to our family. I completely agreed. This little guy brought a new level of chaos and fun into our lives. There was no turning back.
By Kimberly Kookendoffer2 years ago in Petlife
The Language of the Dragons
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. That’s the story my Grandmother always tells me anyway. Once upon a time they lived far away until humankind came along. Humans kept pushing further out, grabbing up territory. They used up this land and moved on until they reached the Dragon’s homeland. There was peace for a time, but humankind’s desire to conquer and build pushed the dragons out. Seeing no other way, the Dragons sought revenge and to reclaim what was once theirs. Fire rained from the sky until an agreement was decided upon. We call it, “The Burnt Ashes Pact.” At least, that’s my Grandmother’s version of our history. That’s not exactly what they teach us in school.
By Kimberly Kookendoffer2 years ago in Fiction