Victoria Cage
Bio
I’ve been a storyteller for as long as I can remember. Every chance I could get I was either writing, drawing, or telling anyone who’d listen my stories. Throughout high school I self published three books on Amazon. Enjoy my short stories!
Stories (17/0)
Gunslingers of Black and White
Fresh footprints in the dark red sand whisked away with the scorching breeze. The land was flat; even the mountains had worn away to mere hills. Orange clouds like stretched out cotton balls hung high in the three moon sky. The Three Ladies, as the locals called it, were gray spheres, each one bigger than the last. A quiet town stood between two maroon hills. Thick black slabs of tile dusted with sand roofed every building, and a tan clay made up the walls. During what would be considered nighttime in other places, was when the citizens went about their business. It was impossible to go out during the day, for the sun was too great and bright.
By Victoria Cage2 years ago in Fiction
The Untitled Document
The coffee timer has been set for 3am on the dot. Every clock in the house—the grandfather in the dining hall, the electric in the living room, the quartz in the office, and the alarm in the writer’s bedroom. All ticked and tocked in sync as if they were one. And then the first alarm went off.
By Victoria Cage2 years ago in Fiction
Patchwork of Sorrow
Moist air stuck to his feathers. Wailing wind swirled through the street until it passed into the oak he was perched on. A few leaves abandoned their according branches and decided to join in the wind’s journey. He would too, eventually, but for the moment all he did was readjust his position. Smoky clouds clotted the crimson and gold rays of the setting sun, but occasionally the deep colors would break through. The scent of rainwater, pine needles, and desperation hung thick in the creeping fog. He recognized this as the smell of his home.
By Victoria Cage2 years ago in Humans
What Have I Done
Everything was blissfully perfect. There was no where to go and no where he’d rather be. His safe haven was whatever he chose it to be; sometimes he liked deserts, other times he preferred jungles. Wherever he was, he was content with being alone. His own company was all that he ever needed because no one would understand him better. He desired no one, and no one desired him. He was happy. He was content. He was everywhere and no where. Everything was utterly, blissfully, perfect.
By Victoria Cage2 years ago in Horror
Death’s Lost Love
The recently desolated land stunk of fresh smoke, burnt flesh, and faintly of fear; the cold sweating, adrenaline rushing, moments-before-death, kind of fear-scent. The air itself tasted like coal and blood-iron, a flavor of wind usually found near butcheries and blacksmiths. There was no sound. No birds, bugs, or people. Only Death, cloaked in ruby and ebony silks. He stood still, looming over the scorched meadows in which lay the results of the massacre. Twisted bodies, torn and bleeding, were left untouched; they were left for the wolves to dispose of. Lining the meadows were blackened and splintering trees; in the distance, green fire still ate the woods, growing wider and stronger with each branch it consumed.
By Victoria Cage2 years ago in Horror