Sebastian Russo
Bio
"If you wish to be a writer, write."
-Epictetus
Stories (10/0)
Empty
Tomas peered down at the box on his porch, and the box stared back. He leaned against his door, still clutching its knob in his right hand. His shoulder and head hugged around it the way one might do on a winter's night, wanting to look out, but afraid of being cold.
By Sebastian Russoabout a year ago in Horror
Ere Flame
The woman ran through the woods, trying to find her way. Her skin burned all over, as if the sun had scorched it, and her fingernails ached with a gnawing pain. Her hair, hung about her in tangled locks, stung at the roots. For the hundredth time she asked herself, what has happened to me?
By Sebastian Russoabout a year ago in Fiction
The Far Longing
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. So they said. Jaek could hear it. He could hear them. Dozens and hundreds of them. If not through his ears then through his mind. They tore at his heart and at his stomach, like a thousand claws. And he could do nothing to help them. Nothing.
By Sebastian Russo2 years ago in Fiction
The Prattles of Jon Prakem
"Do I yearn for the end? I don't know, Darling. I just don't know..." The rocking chair was old, but sturdily built. Its wood, worn in places by incessant use, held Jon Prakem's weight—no more than skin and bones in his withered state—with ease. With a little movement of his own it was set to rocking back and forth. Back and forth.
By Sebastian Russo2 years ago in Fiction
The Owl's Observance
The night had deepened by the time the owl landed for a rest. His belly, empty only moments before, was now sated by the likes of a small field mouse. Scant pickings for some of the larger birds of prey but a tasty, satisfying meal for him. He had dove the moment he saw it and snatched the sorry creature up, swallowing it bones and all. Now he clutched to the old oak joist of a familiar resting spot to him, digging at an itch in his feathers.
By Sebastian Russo2 years ago in Fiction
An Unexpected Encounter
A disgruntled wind, cold as ice, bit at Rena's exposed skin as she forced her way through knee-deep snow towards the tavern. Thick furs covered her back and head and hands, but they seemed to make no difference against the elements that wormed through whatever gaps they could find. She figured it wouldn't take more than an hour for the storm to take her in its savage clutches.
By Sebastian Russo2 years ago in Fiction
War's Woes
Her body faltered as she ran through the woods. It was once a good forest to her. A pretty forest. The air flowed through it in cold wisps, carrying the sweet music of songbirds and the friendly rustle of leaves. Faun trotted happily after their mothers as they sought fresh grass and the gurgling waters of streams, erupting from the hillsides and carving their way down to the valleys and plains.
By Sebastian Russo2 years ago in Fiction