Rachael Writes
Bio
I am a life-long learner and creative that loves writing and telling stories.
Achievements (1)
Stories (7/0)
- Runner-Up in After the Parade Challenge
The Peasant Queen
"There weren't always dragons in the valley. Once there was no war and no death. Once the inhabitants lived in harmony with the natural order, giving more than they took, and taking only what they needed. They lived under the watchful eye of Mount Kokomo, the smoking giant that rose skyward at the northern end of the valley, whose ashes gave them fertile lands that never failed to bare, fruit-heavy orchards, cedar forests so thick that the air was inundated with the sweet scent of sap, and the healing water from springs high in the mountain. Despite their richness of resources, the people of the valley lived in poverty under the rule of their king's greed. Royal soldiers came to the valley and collected their goods as tax, leaving them with little to live on. The summer that Kokomo mountain heaved its last breath marked the arrival of the first dragon- goddess, Nathifa."
By Rachael Writes 2 years ago in Fiction
Moon Upon the Lake
Emma stood at the end of the short dock staring at the silver moon above her. It hung bright and wide in the sky, beckoning her like a pale goddess of dreams. The sound of toads singing scratchy güiro notes echo off of the thick wall of cedars and pines that surround the motionless lake before her. Behind her, an old plank house, hidden from view by the forest that surrounded it, squats stubbornly in a clearing. The house was old enough to have seen centuries pass and generations born within its walls. Emma’s direct ancestor had built it and her grandmother was the last of them born in the home rather than a hospital. It had changed over the years, a new log roof, two small bedrooms, and even a window. There was a bathroom with plumbing and a kitchen/living room combination. It was sacred to Emma and her family because it was one of the few things that had remained untouched by the hands of white men. It was their ancestral home. Listening to the chorus of creatures from the end of the dock had become a nightly ritual for her. It brought her peace of mind so that when she slid into the cold pocket of her bed later, she could manage to sleep.
By Rachael Writes 2 years ago in Horror
Saint Anne of Beaumont
The golden glow of the hearth spread across the tiled room bringing warmth and the sharp scent of scorched wood to the nose. The kitchen stretched in a long rectangle, each sidelined with a mix of century-old stone ovens and wifi-enabled appliances. The old and the new coexisting like old tales and new discoveries. A small dot of glowing ember lept from the shadows cast across space and caught his eye. A cigarette, perhaps? One that she always had with her as though they were a lifeline. On the furthest end of the room, she sat, next to the french doors that stood open letting the night air in. The doors led out to the beautiful garden that now sat shrouded in darkness. He knew he would find her here- staring into the flickering flame as if it held the secrets of existence or the solution to every problem. He hoped that he would find those answers as well but was unsure if he would find them in the fire or her burning eyes. He stepped over the threshold and into the kitchen as quietly as he could. Even as he entered she did not turn to look, instead she tapped at her cigarette and let the ash float to the floor. He sought her out because he knew her wisdom was beyond anything he hoped to gain in his lifetime. She blew smoke and finally glanced his way.
By Rachael Writes 3 years ago in Fiction