Morgan Hiler
Bio
I have been writing and telling stories to my friends since elementary school, but never had the courage to carry those stories forward. So, I am here to finally prove to myself that I am a writer and the stories I have are worth sharing.
Stories (8/0)
Hope
Towering structure Comforting home to many Monument of hope
By Morgan Hilerabout a year ago in Poets
Solitary
Silently you stand Alone and apart, solemn Monument of time
By Morgan Hilerabout a year ago in Poets
Sentry
Great and mighty spire Consistent beacon of time Beautiful sentry
By Morgan Hilerabout a year ago in Poets
When The Void Answers
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. The first thing you learn about space travel as a cadet is the danger of underestimating the nothingness of space. It is the perfect name, space. It is the in-between of worlds, a fathomless chasm of emptiness. A total void. As I stare out at the immense blackness surrounding me, I can barely register the pinpoints of light from distant galaxies. The one thing that they don’t train you for is the cold. The suits for spacewalks hull maintenance are insulated, but just like a heavy coat on a snowy day, the cold permeates the layers and seeps into you. Today it feels like the cold has gone beneath my skin and settled in my soul.
By Morgan Hiler2 years ago in Fiction
Sometimes There Are No Words
Have you ever been moving along, not having a problem, and generally happy and content then out of nowhere someone says one thing, and your entire mood changes and everything feels like it falls apart? I haven’t had many of those, but I had one recently.
By Morgan Hiler2 years ago in Confessions
Destination: Unknown
The gentle rocking was comforting as I felt myself slowly coming awake. Sometimes - not often, but sometimes - I sleep so deeply that I forget where I am as I wake up. I blink my eyes against the soft light and take in my surroundings. Where was I? As the rocking continued, I sat up quickly and absorbed everything around me. I was on a train, but not a subway or modern train at all. No, this was like period movies I had seen. Old brass sconces along the entire cart gave off a soft yellow glow, making it feel like the train was traveling at night. There were dark green velvet couch-style benches facing each other with large picture windows between the benches. Green velvet curtains matching the seats framed the windows. The sound of the metal wheels on the tracks creaked when the train rocked. The car smelled like oiled wood. That was something I had not experienced since childhood.
By Morgan Hiler2 years ago in Fiction