Calling all Ernest Hemingways, Toni Morrisons, Stephen Kings, Octavia Butlers, and James Baldwins of the world - Fiction is the place for your stories to run wild.
The girl sighed as she stared defeatedly at the unremarkable ceiling over head. Gentle rays of light danced against the light blue walls of the room. The sun rose slowly in the sky, the beautiful mixes of oranges and yellows and pinks, replacing the black and navy of the night before. The girl ran a hand through her red hair. Another sleepless night had come and gone. Her chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm as she contemplated doing it today.
Careful What Name You Choose
Shortly after moving into our new neighborhood, my wife found him on Interstate 12 in Louisiana. Unannounced, she delivered him to me, which was clearly against the rules. But our home is like the Roach Motel--if anything checks in, they never check out. The smell was painful, and after addressing the filth, tar, and matted hair, he was still unrecognizable as any particular breed.
"He's gone!" "But where...?" "...and for how long?" "...The Storyweaver is fine. Right now, we should tend to our healing allies."
Letifer the Harvester leaned against a tree on the edge of the clearing, closed his eyes, and listened to the battle rage. He and his brother, Mortem, had been hard at work for eons, but the human mortals still haven't learned to coexist. Not that mortals in general thought much about the Harvesters or the Beyond anyway. Letifer marveled at how consequential the human mortals thought their lives were. He and his brother had been around since the universe began, and humans, who only lived for 50 years at a time, thought of nothing but conflict and progress, leaving Letifer and Mortem to harvest the souls that were ripe.
A Story About A Forest
Once upon a time there was a gorgeous, lush forest that teemed with life and vibrance. The forest was protected by highly official documents, laws and legislation, unharm-able, loved and nurtured by all who lived by it. Baby squirrels played and chased each other up and down majestic trunks from dawn to dusk. Nestled in great roots were settlements of mushroom villages and fat bugs of all shapes, sizes and colours wove in between the little umbrellas. Food was abundant, air was clean and sweet and seldom was there a crash that told of a fallen giant. When there was, new saplings rose up tall, growing strong upon the wisdom of the old bark beneath their roots.
Darlene rested her head against the cool and solid refrigerator, her eyes closed as she counted out the longest sixty-three seconds of every day. Those sixty-three seconds it took for the coffee machine to create her personal cup of mommy wake up juice to start the day.
- First Place in SFS 8: Pear Tree Challenge
The Unsaid Good-Bye
Nic sat on the toilet in her great-grandmother’s house, staring at the shower wall mural that had creeped her out as a child, feeling very creeped out. She hated using the bathroom here, because there was nothing to do but sit and look at those creepy, sculpted people with their white, almond-shaped eyes and oversized hands, positioned around the trunk of a vast Yggdrasil of a pear tree, branches spread wide above the length of the tub and oval leaves ending in sharp barbs like wasp stingers drooped in silent menace. If a bathroom could be threatening, her great-grandmother had cornered the market.
Reading and Righting
Reading and Righting Ricky Pardue buried his Ma by his Pa up in the Boot Hill Cemetery as close to the old pear tree as he could get them. His Pa died of accumulated ills and despondency associated with his time fighting for the Confederacy's failed secession, and his Ma died not long afterwards of consumption, according to old Doc Gibbons. His Pa never was right after he came home from the war, and his Ma just seemed to have wasted away.
It Is All Downhill from Here
It Is All Downhill from Here By Kami Bryant (This really happened. Truth is stranger than fiction sometimes) “No man is worth dying for,” said the police officer sitting on my apartment stairs. I did agree with him, I didn’t really want to die. I wanted the pain to go away. Plus, I wanted to get my ex-boyfriend’s attention. So, I drank half a fifth of rum on the day he dumped me and then I finished the bottle of rum the next day. To top it off, I took four or five Wellbutrin. I am not sure of the actual amount; it is all a blur. Then, I called him. He came and brought the cops with him. He told them I was attempting suicide. I told the police that he was lying.
Should I Stay or Should I Go?
Note: I am submitting this on the 30th anniversary of Nirvana's 'Nevermind'. I was in high school and faced a similar moment like the one in this story. Also, it was one day before my 18th birthday (yeah, tomorrow is my birthday).
The Moon and the Loon
The young loon felt the burn of his day’s flight with each “whoomph, whoomph..” of his spotted wings. The sun had passed over his back from right to left, as he made his way towards the little forested jewel of a lake nestled beneath a dark grey granite cliff, where tiny little quartz crystals twinkled like so many stars in the evening dark.
Before Music Mitchel's Date
I don't think I got it yet. Listen to Natalon in E. Minneapolis took a different direction after I heard Simeon ten Holt's music. I'd like to get this across by writing a few Minneapolis Shows. I hope they get better and better.
Stress Test Ch. 12
Billey probably wouldn't have noticed he was getting bigger except that he had to squeeze a little bit more to fit in the camper at night. Then again, Black Wolf seemed to be standing lower and lower to the ground, too.
In the Eyes of Guinea Pigs
Light shines in through the windows. I open my eyes to the brightness of it. I’m so not ready to get up so I turn myself around and cover myself in my homemade sleeping bag. My name is Tomba and my brother who is sound asleep beside me is Patches. We live with our human who goes by Eric. He clearly isn’t out of his nest yet since we aren’t hearing anything but his snoring. That is until a loud frightening noise goes off and startles us all awake.
Last Rocket Down
“Ronald, come down this instant... If you don’t come down now, I will come up there and drag you down. There will be tears.” The mother yelled up at her 6-year-old son, who had made his way to the very top of the giant rocket slide in their local park. “Wait till your father finds out how you scared your mother, there’ll be hell to pay,” she carried on. The boy in the meantime was happily ignoring his mother, today he was Neil Armstrong, about to launch with the rest of the crew on their mission to the moon.
The Director’s Chair
Sonya pretended she was about to brave a storm when her husband John had found out that she cheated on him. She called her lover and told him in a scared tone; she anticipated John to revenge, “He might kill me, he might do anything crazy.”
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