Adventure
On The Waves
This... was not what Blythe was expecting when they decided to go island hopping. They expected that they would spend the day looking at different natural features and maybe take some pictures of a lighthouse or two. Never in a million years did they expect to be standing on a rocky shore, having a staring contest with a young boy who had just appeared. Out of nowhere.
By Callum J. Scheiber3 years ago in Fiction
Henry
Since our meeting, I had become infatuated with Joanne. I wanted to meet her again but not with the whole community watching our every move. She lived on the island and I would have to go there without raising any suspicion. How could I get away from John and then get to the island? I was a strong swimmer but I’d rather not jump into an unknown lake. I started making excuses to be able to search around for a boat or other watercraft. Paydirt! An old home near the lake had a kayak. It had a cover and had been housed in a garage that helped protect it from the weather. Now all I had to do was drag it to the lake and see if it still floated. As I approached the edge of the lake, I realized how little cover there was on the beach and on the lake to the island. I was going to have to make his attempt during darkness. I flipped the kayak into the water. It bobbed around from the waves and its own splash. After ten minutes, the kayak had settled and was just gently rocking from the waves. Next step, will it still hold with me in it? I pulled the kayak to the shore just enough so that when I got in, if it did sink, it would only be a couple of feet of water to contend with. Ok, one foot in the kayak and one in the water…time for the leap of faith. I pulled myself up and wriggled into the kayak. I was expecting to suddenly feel water around my feet, soaking my clothes…no, all dry. I grabbed the paddle and pushed a little bit from the shore. Still afloat. This gave my confidence a boost. I paddled along the shore to get the hang of controlling it. A couple of times I made myself dizzy as I couldn’t figure out how to stop turning. A little longer and I was able to move in a straight line, turn and return to my starting point. I felt that I could make the trip with this boat. I pulled the boat up on the shore and hid it under some branches. Not the best hiding spot but no one should really be looking down here anyway. I looked at my watch…Damn! No one is going to believe I was scouting the area for this long. John is going to be even more suspicious.
By Chris Purdom3 years ago in Fiction
Biff Valentine and the Trouble at Tincastle Creek
Biff Valentine and the Trouble at Tincastle Creek In the town of Tincastle Creek, on the south of the Moswold Bridge, sheriff Beuford Valentine crouched behind a barrel of questionable alcoholic sludge. The moon cast dusty shadows along the alley behind Strong Shot O'Mally's Saloon. The rumors said the Dark Thief haunted the place. So Valentine waited there, as patiently as he could, for the thief to emerge.
By A.M. Harte3 years ago in Fiction
The Way Home is Longer When There's a Bull Behind the Wall
"It's a bull!" Logan shouted, eyes wide and wild. I couldn't believe it! We had moved out of the city that summer. As I was in fourth grade and responsible, Mommy said I was in charge of walking him home from school, since he was just a first grader and we didn't have any friends yet. That long, horrible walk, uphill both ways, through wind and snow and whatever else would face us in this new world of California suburbia. Maybe an earthquake or a wildfire. But, a bull?
By B.B. Potter3 years ago in Fiction
Bullfishing
I had one more full day in Texas. And all I wanted to do was to catch a fish, preferably a largemouth bass. Ideally, one that was six pounds or larger. This was my second and last opportunity to catch a Texas bass. Tomorrow, I’d be flying home to the cold late-winter weather of Minneapolis.
By Mike Barzacchini3 years ago in Fiction
The Walk Home is Longer When There's a Bull Behind the Wall
"It's a bull!" Logan shouted, eyes wide and wild. I couldn't believe it! We had moved out of the city that summer. As I was in fourth grade and responsible, Mommy said I was in charge of walking him home from school, since he was just a first grader and we didn't have any friends yet. That long, horrible walk, uphill both ways, through wind and snow and whatever else would face us in this new world of California suburbia. Maybe an earthquake or a wildfire. But, a bull?
By B.B. Potter3 years ago in Fiction
The Power of Painting in Year 3000 - Part E
Augusto's face lit up delightfully after hearing that a Cona Vight went down after eating some of the chocolate cake. "This is fantastic! You have completed the other half of the research. Now none of us have to risk our lives in order to figure that out," Augusto said.
By Patrick Oleson3 years ago in Fiction
The Hunted
“This ain’t gonna end the way you think, Reed!” Warren, the bounty hunter, yelled loud enough to be heard over the wind as it forced the sand and dust into a lover’s dance. Reed wasn’t much of a talker and preferred to go rather than show. He also knew he wouldn’t have the luxury of being invisible to these imbeciles much longer.
By Reed Mcabre3 years ago in Fiction
In-pasta bull run
Sploosh. A red tepid rain washed over the unsuspecting nine-year-old clad in white, a groan escaped her as she spat out a mouthful of the watery sauce. The herbal scent burned her nose as she looked towards the sky and saw a busboy rushing away from an upper window, the girl closed her eyes. Inhaling deeply she slowly opened her eyes gray blue, reflecting the cloudy sky above her the girl brushed the sauce from her face with her sleeve. Pale tanned skin stained red from the lingering heat and tomato made her look feverish, her platinum white hair was holding the color as well as her formerly white blouse. A sigh spilled from her lips.
By Crystal Ayers3 years ago in Fiction
The Minotaur
“You must pick one,” he commanded. I cowered before him. He was massive. Broad and thick with densely wrapped muscle enveloping his body. So substantial it was as if he were made of stone, but for the ease of his movement. His features were exaggerated. His nose, round as a saucer. His ears pointed, but folded, with that familiar flop of a canine’s, surreptitiously designed to alert him to the sound of a brittle leaf crackling underneath a distant footstep. His cheeks had that child-like fullness to them, a heaviness that left him with the slightest hint of a droop at his jawline. One might almost mistake him for precocious, bearing such childlike features. But his years were belied by his eyes. His large, cavernous eyes were silky black. Not demonic, they were not void of expression – but so dark it was as if they trapped the memories of 100 midnight skies within them. And the horns. Shorter than I imagined for a Minotaur, but thick and scarred. Honed. He stood 10 feet tall, and when he spoke downward toward me his voice was so heavy and so deep I felt the soft earth beneath my feet tremble from the reverberation of it.
By Loretta BR3 years ago in Fiction
The Running Man
I was standing inside the train station, it was so quiet that the sound off the smallest fly could be heard from the echoes of the train station. It must have been three in the morning, that is when the only other man in the train station, a man who stood next to me for a small period of time began running and launching his body in the air with intense force and without hesitation. His bright orange uniform vest began to fall off his shoulders from his rapid movements, as he would propell his body to hold on to objects like an acrobatic gorilla. In a matter of seconds he found himself at the other end of the train station. With his hands hanging from a pole, he took a moment to align his body to the pole, then took a deep breathe to shout "I am a force of nature, one with God in pursuit of peace!" Listening to his excitement; I left the train station walking up the stairs to the nearest exit.
By Genesis Smalls3 years ago in Fiction
The Roar
Somewhere above, Leo could hear the chaotic cheers of the blood thirsty crowd. Their roar seemed to echo beyond the walls of the colosseum and out into the world; calling to the gods to acknowledge the sacrifice of the fallen and the valor of falling in battle.
By Rachael Hamilton3 years ago in Fiction