Mars Wise

Joined June 2021

0 stories

Bio

I am your dear friend, Mars. A 29 year old subversive fiction savant hailing from the creative hub of North America, Atlanta, GA. My focus is to create modern Black stories that creates a grand and hopeful sense of imagination for all.

Stories (5/0)

The Diary of a Dark Horse
Prelude My name is Alan Simmons. Al for short. Yesterday I decided to myself that I wanted to end my life, if life somehow didn’t get better by a specific date. Grim way to introduce myself, yes? That’s the point. For a very long period of my life, I spent many days and nights in utter darkness, wondering when I’d see “the light” or once again appreciating the literal sunlight that shines upon us everyday. During the timeframe, which will be shared in this series of diary entries, I’ve been searching for a means of understanding my true purpose in life. Each entry to be read was meticulously crafted to create a story of redemption. It’s a means of clarity on if after that date, there’s a tomorrow to await. I need not get too deep into who I am right now. I just need you all to know of the moniker I’ll go by for the remainder of the journey, that is Dark Horse.
By Mars Wiseabout a year ago in Fiction
Slowfall
Slowfall We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. The sky, completely encompassed in white that day. Diamond like snow, rushing amongst the piercing winds, and covering our path as if it were a red carpet to our destination. Wind blew faster than we drove. On both sides of the road were a gamut of trees, still and steadfast, covered in icy gleam, slightly providing a shield as we steadily moved towards the architectural marvel we’d call home for a few days. Below the mountain, the snowfall was so hard I almost convinced myself I couldn’t drive up. Like her, I had a certain level of anxiety making way from calm snowfall to what seemed like a blizzard. But, a sense of clairvoyance kicked inside of me once I realized our GPS signal began to finally wane away, and any hope of seeing the address of the cabin would have to be on one us, well me, battling the winds afront. I couldn’t allow that. I just kept telling her “the wind will slow down as we get closer to it. I promise.” Sometimes, I question if that deluded confidence to assure my lady we were safe was just that or purely intuition, and a blessing.
By Mars Wiseabout a year ago in Humans
Chisisi
CHISISI “Oh dearest Chioma, child of God, would you care to hear about the inception story of a seemingly unknown God of our dearest land?” I came to a halt in the midst of the incredibly busy Alexandrian market, wondering exactly who knew my name or if I’ve become quite self absorbed to believe it’s possible another Chioma roams the streets of Egypt. “No my dear, you are not at all self absorbed in totality. It’d only be quite self righteous to not hear these words from an old man who knows your own thoughts.” Now at this point, I must find the voice that knows my inner thoughts. It created a new form of anxiety within me knowing two commonalities were spoken through a mysterious voice. The market is quite cacophonous at this time of day and yet for some reason, this specific voice was heard over it all. I begin to browse the market away from things of vanity’s sake but in search of a person that seems to know my presence amongst the busy crowd. “You are close my dear” dragged the unidentified mysterious voice. Now with a bit of haste on my part, the clairvoyance given by the voice, and making a decision to make a left past sellers of beautiful jewels and trinkets, I came across a man who obviously, yet unsurely, looked around or above 100 years old judging by the greyish white tone of his immaculately shaped beard. I stood very confused in his presence while gatherers in the market looked incredibly amazed to see him. Putting two and two together, I’d assume he was like a very famous griot, or in my homeland of Nigeria, a noble storyteller. Many children sat criss-cross applesauce, staring with jubilance at the man. Women, married and unmarried stood hastily by the old man (which for a person his age, his handsomeness and dress was beyond comprehension), and the men created a shield, with behind their wives and children for the man as if he were one of the most reputable people of all of Egypt. “Another child, in search of the validity of God and of her faith in the concept of God, has arrived sons and daughters,” said the bearded man. Simultaneously, the crowd halted until all that could be heard were the animals and chattering of people in other places of the market.
By Mars Wiseabout a year ago in Fiction
8’s
Me for Nike at Cascade One of the greatest privileges in our human existence is that we are able to have hobbies, and a multitude of them. Hobbies are simply the pastimes or leisure activities that grant us a sense of solace away from the constant business we have with and towards our families, careers, and society at large. Some people like to bowl for the sake of friendly competition. Some people like to create art for the sake of pure expression. Some people’s hobbies involve a great deal of mental focus and sometimes silence like yoga and meditation. The list goes on. Sometimes, in our rightful paths to our purpose and life aspirations, hobbies can become the work we provide to society like being a pro bowler, a fine artist, or a prominent Yogi. It’s not rare at all. In fact, my life pursuit is to combine my knowledge and efforts in business with my childhood epiphany to becoming a fine artist. But what gives me joy from being away from the studio and conducting business with other individuals, is immersing myself in a roller rink.
By Mars Wise3 years ago in Motivation
Tituba’s Wish
Tituba’s Wish A journey to save the rest of mankind from themselves MAY 25th, 2020 13:09 After a week and some odd days of stealing vehicles and rigging them, many deserted stores looted, in which, I have acquired this notebook, some people, unfortunately, in this case, women double crossed in order to maintain and sustain, and the unforgettably disturbing last interaction with my younger brother, my only remaining family member, I have finally made it to Boston from the absolute atrocity that has become, New York City. To be honest, I almost lost faith in getting here but it indeed became a rite of spirit to get here. My mother, Laura Thompson, is buried near Bunker Hill and in my aim to still accomplish things in the midst of an insoluble global genocide, you would think I’d be more careful in my pursuit that would either leave me forlorn and or with a momentary sense of joy. Nonetheless, as I gaze out into the sky with a delightful breeze that hugs my face, I feel indifferent to the world in front of me. Believe me, Boston is a beautiful place, but now it’s ravaged only by the distant sounds of screaming, growls, grunts, and the animals that live to witness the destruction of almost half the population.
By Mars Wise3 years ago in Fiction

Mars Wise

Bio

Stories .css-19zxm0z-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-default-mute);}(5/0)

The Diary of a Dark Horse

Slowfall

Chisisi

8’s

Tituba’s Wish

Stories (5/0)