Mark (Mitch) Weil
I am an aspiring author! I have loved books my entire life, and look forward to creating the same awe and wonder in readers that other authors have done for me over the years. Follow my Insta @mitchweilstories for updates and story details.
“I YIELD,” Tanwen screamed as she woke, dragged from her troubled dreams by a deep sense of foreboding. She shook her head violently as she rose, trying to quickly dispel the terrible images that had tormented her sleeping mind. Her younger sister’s fiery maw still filled her vision despite waking, and Tanwen shuddered at the thought of those dreams coming true. It had been years since she’d had a nightmare like that, and she wasn’t happy going through it once again. Tanwen liked to think she’d left thoughts of her sister and the rest of the clan behind, but clearly living apart from them for so long did little to dispel the emotions attached to them. Slowly, as she tried to move on, it dawned on her that the feeling of unease hadn’t lessened after waking. Tanwen glanced around, careful to keep her nictitating membranes closed against the glare of late afternoon sunlight that was filtering into her cave.
His Divine Itchiness
You know that itch you get right as you’re trying to nod off to sleep? The one that you’re not sure existed even after you’ve scratched the offending area? The one that springs up again on another part of your body when you’ve settled back in, snug under the covers? That’s me. Some may call me silly names like the Itch Fairy, but I prefer to think of myself as The Immortal God of Itchiness. You may call me Your Divine Itchiness. In my opinion, I am an essential, natural force in the world. Which would make me a god in the vein of Boreas, Notus, Zephyrus, and Eurus. (For those of you that never took Classics, I pity you. Those are the Four Winds of Greek Mythology. Though I never particularly liked them much, too flighty. Couldn’t nail them down in an RSVP for any party.) Plus I’ve never died, so there’s Exhibit A for immortality. Perhaps the only argument against my divinity is the fact that I feel the need to explain myself. But not being able to hold myself back is part of my highly endearing personality, so I think it’s fine.
The Last of the Dreigiau
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley… Dragons used to live in a lot of other places, too. The hills and mountains; the swamps and plains. In all different shapes and sizes, dazzling in their variety of color. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. I’ve only seen one dragon in my short life.; the only one that’s been seen outside of the Valley in 12 years. I thought it was the most beautiful creature I’d ever witnessed. My father thought so too, but only after it had come crashing down to the earth with several ballista bolts in its chest. You see, for some reason that no one has been able to adequately explain to me, we went to war with the dragons. Well, my father and the other clan leaders call it war. I call it extermination and genocide.
Julius Caesar woke up screaming. Again. For several seconds he thrashed against the sweat-soaked sheets, hopelessly entangled. Slowly, as he realized he was safe in his own bed and not truly locked in the midst of battle, Caesar calmed and took several deep breaths. He peered cautiously around his bedchamber, as if to make sure no enemies were lurking out of sight. Everything seemed in its place: dark purple curtains shut out light from the peristylum and the capricious figures dancing on the walls stayed put where they were painted. Once again he was glad of his decision to place his bedroom on the far side of his domus, away from the slaves’ and guests’ chambers. Most Romans would likely have kept their slaves in rooms close by in order to have them dote on every little need as quickly as possible. However, if Caesar’s slaves heard his nightly howls, then his reputation as the most powerful man in Rome was potentially threatened. Instead of slaves’ ears, the sounds he made fell only on the stone walls.