Classical
“The Girl Who Broke Willowford”
It's currently the summer of 1955 my name is James Hale, I live in the small town of Willowford. I work at my local diner, taking the same customers every day, receiving the same meals and life is good. It feels like every week repeats but nobody questions it, that's just how life is in Willowford. There’s a comfort to the routine, a rhythm to the days that never changes. People wave the same way, smile the same way, live the same way. Maybe that’s why I’ve never questioned it — Willowford feels safe, even when it feels strange.
By Christian Sanchez9 months ago in Fiction
The Ghost on the Map: My 2,000-Mile Journey to a Paris That Isn’t There
If you type "Paris" into Google Maps, the algorithm will dutifully drop a pin on the City of Light. It will show you the winding Seine, the star-shaped sprawl of the Place de l’Étoile, and enough crêperies to feed a small army.
By George Evan9 months ago in Fiction
Still Life with Woman. Honorable Mention in What the Myth Gets Wrong Challenge.
Despite my youth and supposed good health, I had recently felt under the weather. In recent days, to be precise, I had felt my body slowly seizing up, heavier. It started in my fingers and toes: a loss of the freedom of movement expected for those digits at the extremities of my healthy body. Not exactly painful, but neither was it a piece of cake. After a day of that, I retired to bed, expecting to wake fully refreshed and better the next day.
By Paul Stewart9 months ago in Fiction
Patriots. Expatriates.
The white china cup clattered against the serving plate as the train hit a soft bump. He stared glassy-eyed as the coffee within swirled. Mountains flitted by his window, their gray dominance only interrupted by the lush green landscape at their base.
By Matthew J. Fromm9 months ago in Fiction
The Defender Of The Faith. Honorable Mention in Craft Over Catharsis Challenge.
On the castle green below, the Crown Prince chased a black cat under the ever watchful eye of the King. *** Father Gustavo hated this backwater island; too cold in the winter, too sweltering in the summer. But the murder of the Crown Prince of Feriones demanded immediate attention from the Holy Lateran Inquisition. He dabbed the sweat from his jowls, yearning to be back amongst his estate where the soft breeze off the ocean stirred his grape vines. What he would give to listen to that symphony instead of the babbling knight chained with him.
By Matthew J. Fromm9 months ago in Fiction
The Sun Who Envied The Moon
Do you ever wish you were like someone else? Wish you had that dream life, that dream car, that loving family? I wish I was like the moon, she sees the real side of people, when humans are at their most vulnerable they turn to the moon like an old friend. People only talk to me when they’re “happy” but usually they are just faking it.
By Christian Sanchez9 months ago in Fiction
Sisyphus’ Punishment
I’ve been doing this for three thousand years. At least that's what I estimate, more or less. Can’t tell more precisely because I lost count of days and nights. With this job, you would too, anyone would. Yes, I have to roll this huge rock up not only during the day but at night, too. Up and down, up and down. I roll it up, almost all the way to the top, it rolls down under its weight and I have to start over.
By Lana V Lynx9 months ago in Fiction
