Adventure
Fever Dream
In this worn-out barn in the middle of the Georgian summer, the most unusual things tend to happen. I was just informing ol' Featherbottom about the rat incident. Just the other day I'm up here in among the rafters and I spy below three rats scurrying across the hay and they dart up Bertha's back, only she's too hot to care, big things like horses get wicked hot and real lazy, but then the rats start crawling across her face and into her ears. Bertha's earcups they start whackin' around wild but two of the rats ride hard, they burrow in, and their little tails follow them down in a slither, and Bertha tries to get up but then WHOOMPH she's down, plumb out, her neck saved by a bale of hay with her head suspended inches from the floor. The last rat gives a loud squeak and follows the others into the ears. I'm up and ready to jump right in, deal death to the buggers, Bertha and me go back, you know, but she's out cold and the rats are inside, and right on the squeak I hear a great Scurrying. More rats then I knew existed start running straight across this barn like cats don't exist. Enough rats that I'm sitting back down and counting my claws, thinkin' maybe I ought to round up some reinforcements--my twolegs keep a couple of kittypets that might handle a rat or two. All those rats, they swarm in a little formation, stop right in front of Bertha like they're waiting for her to speak.
By Christopher Fin3 years ago in Fiction
Angelou Barn
Addison Gayle Collier was reared in one of the wealthier homes of Angelou, Mississippi. Although she was reared in a wealthy home, Addison’s parents tasked her with earning her own money like everyone else in the Collier home. No handouts, and after age twenty-five, Collier children had to establish their own living space. For Addison, she refused to reenact the stigmas like that of her siblings. Every time mother evicted one Collier, another one came trapsing back. With that, Addison moved to Providence, Rhode Island with the mindset of never looking back.
By Ashley D. Gilyard3 years ago in Fiction
A Girl and Her Palace
I never thought I’d see Naomi again. But here she stands before me, a shell of the vibrant young creature I knew decades ago. Age had been kind to her; that relentless, untamed spirit still flickering in her eyes. The young girl next to her looks just like Naomi did at that age: a soul of brilliant light with long, brown hair billowing around her petite face; and big hazel eyes that were too knowing to belong to a child. “This was your barn, Gram?” she asked with fascination. “Yes Evelyn, this is where your great-grandmother spent most of her time when she was your age. It was my palace, and it used to be beautiful; constantly bustling with life. I never thought I’d see it again.” Naomi explains, tears welling up in her eyes. Evelyn inspects my slanting frame, rusted walls, broken windows, and termite-infested stalls. “Tell me again what it used to be like, Gram. I want to imagine it like it’s happening now!” Evelyn exclaims excitedly. “If this barn could talk, it’d tell you every story in much greater detail than I can,” Naomi said with a nostalgic tone. She’s right, but I’m just an old, run-down barn. So as Naomi regales the girl with tales from our past together, I savor her words that breathe life into the only thing I’m still capable of sheltering: memories.
By Hannah Jenkins3 years ago in Fiction
A Hiding Place for a Elf, a Dwarf and a Centaur
Sitting in a verdant hollow between groves of pine and birch, a clearing of wildflowers surrounded a cottage of grey stone and dark wood. The lulling buzz of bumblebees accompanied a chorus of birds caught on the breeze passing over the grass of the clearing. The cottage was short with a crooked roof and haphazardly placed windows, lavender and rose bushes framing the gnarled wooden doorway. The roof of the cottage sloped into that of the stables, open and dirt packed it was home to two mares: one white and one brown. At the back of the cottage, lying lengthways and sharing its roof was the barn. It was small for a barn, and despite the pealing of the red paint it stood strong, keeping the hay and the farming equipment dry.
By Oliver Weeks3 years ago in Fiction