Reprise
To Be Twice Struck By Lightning
Rachael wandered gaily on the wold transparent; arms widespread; tongue out catching cool, quenching rain. Her sable braids matted, grey cloak sodden, and leather boots drenched and filled with cloud blood, and even the hem of her mazarine dress wicked dew from the moor flowers as she gambolled upon the indigo heather, yet she remained unruffled. She even smiled upon hearing heavenly percussion, or seeing white light cleave a close sky in two. For she didn’t fear lightning strikes, she welcomed them. Her singed sleeves rolled down revealing blistered, scarred tissue, as she upraised a whorled wand, daring reprise.
About the Creator
Samuel Andrew Milner
There's not much to tell about me. Maybe I should get out more.
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Ungodly Beasts
SURGING FORWARD WITH MUDDIED BOOTS, an air of imminence under his black coattails, a tall man approached the portico of a grand estate. Feeble though, in the gloaming. He paused a moment on the gravel path and beheld a frenzied light, and wicked howling emanating from a second storey window in the eastern corner of the house. His pallid face was stricken with apprehension as rain bellowed and gale force winds languished against the man, threatening to fell him like an axe to a tree. He considered leaving, but held fast and gripped the long parcel under his cloak more tightly. He had some difficult business to attend, but business nevertheless.
By Samuel Andrew Milnerabout a year ago in Fiction
Spectating
I can't imagine dying like this, in a place like this; on a cold, dirty pavement with rush hour traffic screaming by and a crowd looking on while paramedics struggle to find space to move. Who could? Deep down we all think there should be a reason, a moment of clarity... or a family presence, at least. For this man, this boy, the rail thin woman lighting a cigarette in a faux fur jacket will have to do - she's been here since the start, her eyes tracking the movement of my shoulders as we fight to keep him on the right side of the line.
By S. A. Crawford3 days ago in Fiction
The absolution of Zachary Starks.
Four pairs of resentful eyes meet mine, not knowing what to do with themselves for one, excruciatingly long minute. I gulp a mix of air and saliva. My eyelids switch to acceleration mode; blinking uncontrollably, just the way they do every time adversity pays me a visit.
By Lamar Wigginsabout 5 hours ago in Fiction
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