Laura Ball
Stories (7/0)
The Unfortunate Fool
In bounced the Royal Court Jester, tumbling head over heels. The King looked up as he heard the Jester’s door open on the left side of the Great Hall, a smile appeared instantly upon his lips. The Jester looked like a spinning wheel of gold and blue as he did cartwheels to the center of the hall and then stopped on his feet before the King. He was extravagantly dressed in pointed black and gold shoes with bells on their tips, red and gold tights, black and blue shorts, and a red and white checkered top. He bowed low and the tassels on his pointy rainbow-colored hat completely covered his gaily-colored face. As he stood straight again, the King’s smile began to slowly disappear.
By Laura Ball2 years ago in Fiction
Tea With Death
The old man winced, his tired and line-creased face contorted in pain as a slow shiver crept up his twisted spine. His fingers – once long and graceful, now claw-like and skeletal looking – drew the shabby flannel robe snugly about his stooped shoulders. The crumbling mansion had become drafty over the many years and the fire that raged in the once grand marble fireplace barely kept the chill from seeping into his arthritis plagued bones.
By Laura Ball2 years ago in Horror
Crash
At first there is nothing—the long, dark, infinite nothingness of oblivion where the conscience takes a backseat to the unconscious. Then there are the smells, crisp, vivid scents of fuel, smoke, ozone, burned rubber, and, oddly out of place, coffee. This is followed by sound, sounds so awful they grate the bone and chill the blood. These are screams—screams of fear, agony, pain, and shock. It isn’t until my fuzzy brain begins to clear that I realize these sounds are escaping from me.
By Laura Ball2 years ago in Psyche
By the Stroke of Twelve
Tolover Perez was alone. Nothing but his thoughts, his fear and the eerie echoes of the darkened prison to kept him company. He sat stiffly on the edge of his cot, hands on his knees, and stared at the peeling pea green wall in front of him. He didn’t want to move, didn’t even want to blink. He controlled each breathe with the determination of an asthma sufferer.
By Laura Ball2 years ago in Horror