Adventure
A Curse to Break; Chapter 8
The next few days pass without any excitement. I sit silently in the back of the covered wagon as we move during the day and at night, the leader now forces me to sit out by the campfire until I'm yawning. I still don't know where they're taking me. I can't muster up the courage to ask where I'm being taken; not that they were likely to give me an answer anyway. My dread grows with each passing day. I can't help but wonder if I am actually being taken anywhere. They could be taking me in circles for all I knew. Either way, the dread continues to grow. Why me? If this 'captain' had done his research, he'd know I was a useless captive. My family wouldn't pay much for me.
By Katarzyna Crevan2 years ago in Fiction
Fox Hunt: Chapter 9
I dismount when I can finally hear the rushing of the falls. I'd walk the rest of the way, and give the horse a break; we had made better time than expected. With luck, I wouldn't be waiting too long for the militiaman I'd be working with to show up. I can feel my lips twisting in disdain at the thought of him. Priamos had assured me he was good, that he would be helpful, but it didn't change the fact I didn't want a partner. I was more than capable of handling this myself. Yet, orders were orders.
By Katarzyna Crevan2 years ago in Fiction
The Encounter
It was an ordinary afternoon when Ruth first saw Daniel. The sun had dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the city streets. Ruth had just finished work and was making her usual walk through the park, her scarf wrapped tightly around her neck to fight off the crisp chill in the air. The leaves crunched under her boots, and the air smelled of cinnamon and faint traces of burning wood from nearby chimneys.
By Chiamaka Jennifer2 years ago in Fiction
Highway 91. Top Story - September 2024.
The newly paved Vermont asphalt rose and fell like the summer waves he used to watch as a boy growing up on the sea shell riddled shores of Cape Cod. Leaves, ablaze with New England’s one-of-a-kind rich autumn hues, descended from their cold branches and decorated their ascent up the mountain side. They twirled and danced across the quiet back road, morphing into faint red and orange tornadoes as Timothy’s Jeep shifted gears.
By Kale Sinclair2 years ago in Fiction
The Poison type
Latios sat at the kitchen table, the old wood creaking beneath his elbows as he leaned forward, staring at the remnants of dinner. The house was quiet except for the muffled sound of the television in the living room where his mother, Nidoqueen, sat absorbed in her nightly routine. Lately, that routine had become a ritual—hours spent poring over Jehovah’s Witness literature, watching sermons, and taking notes in her well-worn Bible. It was as if the woman who had raised him, the strong, independent mother he once knew, had slowly slipped away, replaced by someone he barely recognized.
By The Kind Quill2 years ago in Fiction
