Adventure
The Adventures of Scallywag the Sea Dog, Part 2
V We were three days out of Harbortown, headed west-northwest toward the tiny Chunga Islands on the edge of the Blue and North Seas. We sailed under a mariner flag, which had a sea-green background with Neptune’s golden trident pointed downward. A trident is like a barbed, three-pronged pitchfork. It was a custom of the seas to fly a banner signifying who you were – mariners, merchants, fishermen, whalers, gypsies, and even pirates observed the custom.
By Ted Lacksonen3 years ago in Fiction
The Adventures of Scallywag the Sea Dog, Part 1
Hello! My name is Scallywag, and I am a dog. You might ask what breed I am, but the best I can say is that I am a mutt born of a mutt born of a mutt, going back more generations than I can trace. But I can say I would not be welcome at any high-falootin’ dog show. And though I lack pedigree, I wouldn’t trade any of my wonderful life and great adventures to have been a pampered and preened poodle from Pembroke.
By Ted Lacksonen3 years ago in Fiction
REVEREND, I WANT YOU TO PRAY
Shirley Mae Anderson a devoted church member. The widow of four adult children and grandchildren. You could count on one hand how many times she missed church service. Hopewell Baptist her place of worship and the proprietor the Reverend Woodrow L. Price. He gave inspirational sermons that brought his congregation out of their seats: clapping, dancing in the aisle, and singing with the church choir.
By wilson jackson3 years ago in Fiction
Is This Us?
Stiff... Her neck was stiff... Her back was stiff... Everything was tight and stiff. Miranda's eyes opened just a bit, and the bright sun assaulted her instantly. The sun? When she last looked around the sun was setting, and now it sat high in the sky. She moved slowly, acclimating herself to her surroundings. She heard the faint song of birds and the clanking of metal. She could smell something delicious in the air and stood from the bed almost without a thought.
By Nicki Williams 3 years ago in Fiction
Johnny Guitar
Life was a series of flashes. Joining the Avengers was one. Meeting Steve Rogers, my commander, was another. The life that grew from that, growing closer and closer. Moving through the snap living together, winning that final battle after the blip, the kiss on the battlefield.
By Autumn Rose3 years ago in Fiction
After The Wars
He could get used to this! Sleeping in a real room and waking on a soft bed. Aleon stretched his limbs lazily as he gets his six-foot-four-inch bulk out of bed. His room is twenty-two floors up from the streets of Levita-17, one of the twenty-two sky-cities in the stratosphere of what remained of Earth. The floating structures were first designed and deployed as military installations to shoot interplanetary ballistic missiles into space, during World War 4. Unfortunately, nobody thought to use them as second level defense systems to support the satellite shields. The weapons of the Marsenes proved more powerful, and took out almost seventy-eight percent of Earth’s population – and about a quarter of the Moon! Now, if the rays of the Sun leak through the dense debris in space, you can see the chipped Moon in orbit, like a worn battle-shield of some ancient warrior, and a large chunk of its dismembered part floating after it some miles away as though it was trying to play catch-up. A nuke from Mars did that! Scientists say it was a miracle that the Moon did not fall out of its orbital circuit.
By Emrys Ijaola3 years ago in Fiction
The Rastonia Era
The Rastonia Era The house was full of angry, armed men and their wives and children. Everyone was silent as the men loaded and readied their weapons. The women were on their knees, praying for the safety of their men and the success of their mission to overthrow the rule of the oppressors. The only sounds were the metallic clinking of clips sliding into place and the click clack of rounds being chambered.
By Steven the author3 years ago in Fiction
Walker
It burned against my chest, the beautiful, cursed thing. Its weight pulled at the string around my neck from which it hung, taunting, daring me to find her. My steps crunched the dried grass to dust, a dim sun struggled to pierce the everlasting amber haze, and still it goaded me on.
By Sjan Evardsson3 years ago in Fiction