Paul whiddon
Bio
Stories (26/0)
Nevaeh
This is a poem about the world in which several of my future short stories and novels take place. Some of these stories intertwine and others stand alone. I would truly appreciate any feedback on this poem or the idea of having multiple storylines take place in the same world. I hope you enjoy the introduction to Nevaeh, the land of magic. I look forward to bringing you more stories from the land of my imagination in the near future.
By Paul whiddon 8 months ago in Poets
The ride of your life
As my eyes shot open my hands flew to both sides of my pounding head. As it throbbed with each bang and clang of the train barreling down the track. The violent whistle of the locomotive felt as though it tore straight to my soul as it belted angerly through the night CHRR CHRRRRR CHRRRROOOOOOO. It felt as if the train itself was filled with despair, agony, and destruction. As it gained speed with every bang and clang of metal on metal as it barreled down the tracks.
By Paul whiddon 8 months ago in Fiction
I rode my bike without a helmet, and I turned out ok..
I tried to think of a story to share of my dad for this challenge entry but there are too many to share. My dad’s life was and is his story and lives on in the heart of my mom, sister, brother, his daughter-in laws, grandchildren, and I. He was a stubborn old fart, but we loved him dearly. He was the kind of guy that you couldn’t hate even if you wanted to, and everyone tells me I’m just like him.
By Paul whiddon 9 months ago in Confessions
Victor and the Sea Kings
The Fair Maiden bounced and rocked on the violent waves caused by the raging storm. A wicked, yet beautiful green light filled the sky as the lightning streaked through the night, followed by an angry rolling thunder that sounded as though it was ripping the wooden planks straight off the old ship’s frame. Victor and Elaina held each other tight as the storm kept them awake from the bed of the captain’s chambers. They never spoke, just lie there listening to the storm in fear of what other dangers it would bring. A storm brought on by magic had unlimited possibilities, and no one knew the dangers of magic better than Elaina, being particularly “crafty” herself, brewing potions, especially potions like, which she had predicted, brought this wretched storm upon them. Since man had begun to try to rid the lands of magic, the seas became host to the wars and creations of magical beings. The seas on this part of Nevaeh, had become particularly dangerous. The thought of being out here at all worried Elaina, the storm and the possible dangers it was brewing just made matters worse.
By Paul whiddon 2 years ago in Fiction
The Witch of Barnett part 2
Angelica wept, curled up on the floor of the wagon’s rusty iron cage for most of the morning and late into the afternoon. As her tears subsided, she sat in silence listening to the wagon as it creaked and cracked, traveling along the bumpy dirt road. She curiously began to look around, scoping out the scenery as if she were planning her escape. She had never been this far from her village before; the trees weren’t like the tall swaying pines that surrounded Barnett. The trees in this part of the forest were much shorter with a lot more branches and were covered in a greenish gray, stringy moss that draped down from the trees like curtains throughout the forest. It was a beautiful, yet mysterious and eerie at the same time. It was late in the evening when the forest broke into a clearing that ran along the coast of the island. As the wagon began to round the large bay, Angelica watched the most beautiful sunset off to the left as the sun fell behind Vark Castle high on a ridge overlooking the sea. Tritus brought the wagon to a stop beside a small stretch of sandy beach and began searching the area for firewood.
By Paul whiddon 2 years ago in Fiction
The Witch of Barnett
Angelica rummaged through the dark attic, not knowing what it was she was looking for or why. The last couple of nights she had gotten little to no sleep and had been ending her nights by welcoming the morning sun peeking through the attic vents as she hopelessly searched, finding nothing, as the morning sun slowly began casting its bright orangish hue through the attic. Angelica stretched out her arms high over her head and let out a huge yawn, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. As she gathered herself and began to pull herself from the attic, she heard the ringing of the church bell coming from the town square. It wasn’t typical for the town’s church bell to ring so early in the day or to ring on a Thursday at all. Angelica ran down the stairs and out of her cottage’s front door, her dingy white nightgown and long dark brown hair flowing behind her. She continued across the lawn and out onto the gravel dirt road to accompany Maggie her lifelong neighbor and friend.
By Paul whiddon 2 years ago in Fiction
