Adventure
Revised Take A Bow 1
It was January 1, 2021. The frozen pond in Evergreen Town hosts a celebration called the Greenlight Festival. It lasts for two weeks. The festival opens at 6 pm and lasts till midnight. The Greenlight frozen pond is surrounded by green lights that give it a glowing appearance, reminiscent of the Northern Lights. It was a magical fortnight. The Greenlight frozen pond is situated at the edge of the town, near Farmer Wubbels' Barn. Farmer Wubbels has a great big, beautiful, modern barn where the townsfolk sell their homemade items during the festival, from Homemade jellies and jams to homemade knitted winter hats and gloves. They have portable heaters inside, which folks use to get warm after ice skating on the frozen pond. The music is blasted from the Barn by local DJs who volunteer their service to the festival. Nothing is going to stop this festival; people have been cooped up indoors for far too long. The fireworks and the drone shows with music are the highlights of each night.
By Mariann Carrollabout a year ago in Fiction
The Warple Wurcus of Thussleberry Circus
I couldn’t believe my destiny. The colours, the motion, the sentiment. I’m older now, nearing death; a great time to write a memoir. But this is no ordinary memoir, for I was the first Warple-Wurcus. I was Scrimitass Sagorious.
By Adz Robinson about a year ago in Fiction
The Boy Who Borrowed Time
The Worst Morning Ever Leo Winters was having the worst morning of his entire life. He missed the school bus. He spilled chocolate milk on his math homework. His big science project—the volcano—fell apart. And when he got to school (late), his best friend Olivia was mad at him because he forgot to save her a seat at lunch yesterday. “Can this day just end already?” he groaned, flopping down under the jungle gym at recess. But then he heard a voice say: “Would you like to borrow an hour?” Man The voice came from an old man sitting on a nearby bench. He wore a gray suit, shiny black shoes, and had a small silver pocket watch in one hand. Leo stared. “Borrow… what?” The man smiled like he’d been waiting for Leo. “Time, of course. You can borrow an hour from tomorrow. Use it to fix today. Or redo something. Or even skip a part you don’t like.” Leo blinked. “You mean, like… I get extra time today?” The man nodded. “One hour. But you must return it by sundown tomorrow. Time doesn’t like being short.” Leo laughed. “Is this a prank?” The man flipped the watch open and held it out. Tick. Tick. Tick. Leo took it. And everything changed. As soon as Leo took the watch, the world froze. Everyone stopped moving. Even the birds in the sky looked like stickers glued to the air. Leo could move freely. He ran back home, fixed his volcano project, rewrote his homework, and even put Olivia’s favorite cookie in her lunchbox as a surprise. When he clicked the watch again, the world resumed. And everything started going perfectly. He wasn’t late. His project got an A. Olivia smiled and said, “You’re the best!” And for the first time ever… Leo felt ahead of the day. Borrowed Time The next day, Leo found the watch still in his pocket. He couldn’t help it—he used it again. And again the next day. And the next. He borrowed hours to: Study for tests he forgot about Sneak in extra sleep Fix arguments before they started Even redo video game levels he messed up Every time, life got easier. And cooler. But one night, he forgot to return the hour. It was cloudy. The sunset was hidden. He figured, “I’ll just give it back tomorrow.” He shouldn’t have done that. The First Crack That morning, Leo woke up to find his reflection smiling at him… before he smiled. He rubbed his eyes. Weird. At school, Olivia said, “You already told me that,” even though he hadn’t. He tried to use the watch—but it was ticking backwards. Fast. And the next hour he borrowed? Felt shorter. Like it lasted only 40 minutes. The Time Collector That night, the old man appeared again—this time, in Leo’s bedroom. He wasn’t smiling. “You’re in time-debt, Leo,” he said. “You owe seven hours. Time is… not pleased.” “I’ll return them!” Leo said quickly. “Just tell me how.” “It’s not that simple anymore. You’ve used what wasn’t yours. Now the time you borrowed… will try to collect you.” “What does that mean?” But the man vanished. And Leo’s clock hands started spinning on their own. Skipped The next day, things got stranger. His breakfast vanished from the plate before he touched it. At school, he blinked—and suddenly it was math class, with no memory of lunch. Olivia said he ignored her at recess, but he wasn’t even there. Time was skipping him—taking back chunks of his life. He tried to stay awake that night, but it was no use. The watch ticked loudly. He closed his eyes for one second… …and woke up two days later. The Hourglass Room Desperate, Leo opened the watch’s back and found a tiny map etched inside. Following it led him to the town’s oldest clock tower. Inside, behind a dusty curtain, was a door. He stepped through—and found himself in a huge, glowing room filled with floating hourglasses. Some big. Some small. Some nearly empty. In the center was a massive one with his name etched in the glass. Sand poured from the top faster than it should. Suddenly, shadows in the shape of clocks crept forward. Time was alive. And it wanted him. The Deal Just as the shadows reached for him, the Watch Man appeared again. “You must give something back,” he said. “An hour is worth more than you know.” Leo thought hard. “Take my lunch breaks!” he begged. “Take my Saturdays!” “No,” said the man. “Not trades. Sacrifice. Choose a memory. Something you love.” Leo’s eyes filled with tears. “My birthday party,” he whispered. “The one when I turned 10. You can have it.” The Watch Man nodded. One hourglass vanished. The sand slowed. And the shadows backed away. Returned Leo woke up at home. Everything felt… normal. The watch was gone. He rushed to Olivia. “Do you remember my 10th birthday? The cake that looked like a dragon?” She blinked. “You never had a dragon cake.” His heart sank. It had worked. The hour was gone forever. But so was the memory. He had paid back time. Epilogue: The Lesson Leo never saw the Watch Man again. But sometimes, when a day feels too long, he remembers what it cost to make time stretch. Now, he just lives it. Even the bad days. Because time is a gift—not something to borrow. And he’s never late for sunset. Ever again.
By Lucien Hollow about a year ago in Fiction
The Whisper of the Willow
There was a willow tree standing at the edge of a quiet village, older than the oldest grandmother’s memory. Its wide canopy spread like a protective embrace, branches sweeping low to the earth as if to comfort every living soul that wandered close. The villagers believed it had been planted long before their ancestors built the first cottages, before the first laughter had echoed through their narrow streets.
By Terence Lisherabout a year ago in Fiction
The Room Upstairs
The real estate agent called it “cozy,” which I’d learned meant small, old, and likely full of ghosts — though she never used the word. She said it was ideal for a single writer, which was generous considering it had no working outlets in the kitchen, and the upstairs bathroom faucet ran backwards.
By Yasir Nawazabout a year ago in Fiction
The Silence Beneath the Clocktower
In the fog-wrapped town of Eldhollow, a clocktower stood at the center like a solemn monument. Its hands hadn’t moved in seventy-three years. The bells hadn’t rung. Not since the fire. Not since the disappearances. People avoided it like a shadow that stretched too far.
By Awais Khaliqabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Spark
The storm had arrived earlier than expected. In the village of Darwaza, nestled between silent mountains and forgotten roads, the skies had always whispered before they wept. But this time, the clouds roared with fury, and the lightning wasn’t just a flash—it was a voice.
By Masih Ullahabout a year ago in Fiction
The Cartographer
Amelia’s life was a meticulously organized map, every street, every landmark, precisely placed. As a cartographer, she thrived on order, on the certainty of lines and labels. Yet, lately, her own internal map felt increasingly blank, particularly the regions marked "childhood" and "family." A vague, persistent ache resided where memories should have been, a blank space she couldn't fill. Her grandmother, the last living link to her past, had recently passed, leaving behind a house filled with echoes and a single, enigmatic inheritance: a worn leather-bound journal.
By Momin Shahabout a year ago in Fiction
