Randy Dannenfelser
Bio
Stories (14/0)
As the Sun Slips Below the Horizon
Every day, we held our breath as the sun slipped below the horizon, convinced magic vanished with its dying light. Shadows gathered, colors faded, and we yearned for the dawn. But one lonely night, we peered into the darkness. To our astonishment, the stars twinkled like floating landscapes, we weaved tales of the dancing figures alit in the velvet sky. Fireflies danced in ethereal unison, casting a soft glow upon the whispers of the night calling birds serenading our souls. We discovered even in the depths of darkness you can find a twinkling magic that equals daylight's brilliance.
By Randy Dannenfelser11 months ago in Fiction
The Darkness in the Mirror
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. It was an old man, with wrinkles etched deep into his face and eyes that looked as though they had seen too much, and wanted to see more. And then there was the blood. I shuddered and turned away, wondering if I was losing my mind. But as I glanced back, the reflection was still there, staring back at me with a look of malice.
By Randy Dannenfelserabout a year ago in Horror
The Curious Call of the Calico Cat
The calico cat had been calling the White House for months. It was a strange situation, to say the least, but it was not the first time a random citizen had called to offer advice on some pressing issue. However, it was first time it was a cat, much less a calico.
By Randy Dannenfelserabout a year ago in Fiction
Sailing in the Sea of Self
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. It was when time slipped sideways into the moments between eternity and infinity. The old world was new again and all were neither asleep nor awake, while everything was impossibly possible. This was the moment when the old woman liked to venture out into the sea on her small boat. She knew we are all but sailors in the sea of ourselves.
By Randy Dannenfelserabout a year ago in Fiction
Red Sky in the Morning
John shuffled along the sandy boardwalk toward the beach. He crested the last dune and saw the red streaked sky as the morning sun peeked over the horizon. Stepping off the boardwalk, he removed his sandals and spread his toes in the warm sand. He took a deep breath of the ocean breeze, then ambled off to the left, his sandals in one hand and frozen drink in the other.
By Randy Dannenfelserabout a year ago in Humans
A Heart Full of Lightning Bugs
I stood near the dark wooden casket, waiting for the viewing to start. Staring down at dad, dressed in the dark three-piece suit he hated, he looked as empty and lifeless as I felt. As empty and lifeless as this depressing room, with its faded wallpaper and its cloying smell of flowers and chemicals. Dad had been so full of life, then struck down so swiftly by the heart attack. A widow maker they called it, but mom had passed last year. Perhaps they should call it an orphan maker, since now there was an empty void where my parents had once stood. A void as empty as my heart. I had not wept when mom died after her long lingering illness, perhaps since she had already been gone for so long, her eyes empty for years. But dad was taken so quickly that I only felt shock; surely the tears will come later, when it all truly sinks in.
By Randy Dannenfelser2 years ago in Families