Classical
Wuthering Heights
At the age of three, Emily Brontë had already lost her mother and was growing up in memory of her two missing little sisters, Maria and Elisabeth. Her aunt raised her, Charlotte, Anne and Patrick (called Branwell from her maternal surname) with Wesleyan methodism, in family reunions a common theme was the account of uplifting deaths. The father was Irish, the mother from Cornwall, more than English they were Celts, and this legacy of myths and folklore, combined with the wild nature in which they grew up, enhanced the imagination of the siblings.
By Patrizia Poli2 years ago in Fiction
Shall We Be Nobody?
Had he not ventured into the garden at such a late time of night, could he have avoided such a horrible luxuriance? What practical reason did he truly have to leave his quarters? Was it curiosity or boredom that influenced his exodus from the dull gray of his residence? Perhaps it was both. Such feelings were so mundane individually, but had they always been so cruel together? He pondered these things silently, though they somehow surpassed the volume of his weeping.
By Sadie Gibson2 years ago in Fiction
Cyclical price to pay
News anchor “Good morning Queenboro city, it's seven thirty in the morning, with a mix of sun and clouds. We have no updates about the search for the missing forest four. Law enforcement, parents and volunteers are still working hard to locate the missing students.”
By The Healer 2 years ago in Fiction
The Witch in the Woods
One – Meet the inhabitants This is the day that I kill that witch. I really need to do this assignment to avenge my cubs by taking out this murderous witch. The humans’ ambitions have been getting out of control for a while now; they’ve broken several treaties with the inhabitants over the years that allowed for us to have relative peace. We had an agreed upon commons that allowed for some movement through the forest, but the problems really started when we discovered things on our land that could be beneficial for the humans.
By Toussaint Osborne2 years ago in Fiction
The Cardinal and the Dawn Chorus
It was almost dawn. From the window where he was standing, he could peer between the curtains and look up the wet lawn to where the gardener was hunched over flowerbeds at the boundary wall. Involved in some indeterminate activity perhaps fresh from the beehives, his shoulders were great sturdy chanterelles in the swirling mist, beside a wheelbarrow of cuttings.
By roz coleman2 years ago in Fiction
The Axe And The Pellet Gun
My mother cried when she saw my hands— torn, and bleeding, and quivering, the way that baby rabbit had shaken with fear after I’d wrestled it from the teeth of the family labrador. For she had warned me of the cold, as I went out in the morning, and gave me my father’s old brown coat. She told me to be vigilant of the axe, and gave me a sip of her richly black coffee, which had been obsidian in the halflight of the kitchen. I had sighed, and tried to refuse, but she was my mother, so it was futile. Throughout that day, until I came in with the flesh of my palms marred with splinters, and ripped about so that it had the same hollow color of white seashells, I smiled at the thought of my mother tilting that mug to my lips, and holding my nape, though I was nearly a man, in the way she had with soup when I was sick, as a little kid.
By G. Arthur Clynes2 years ago in Fiction
Tears for Medusa
In the center of Medusa's lair was a statue of her father... As Apollo's golden chariot disappeared below the western horizon, dragging Helios in its wake, the skies above Greece blazed violet and gold in a final celebration of the day even as the darkness of night marched up from the eastern horizon. Artemis began her own journey across the skies, carrying Selene behind her. That night a stranger came to the city of Cisthene by way of the sea. He left behind a life dedicated to Ares, and set out to build a new one dedicated to peace. As he took his first good look at the city, a shadow fell across his face as an owl darted past him; seemingly urging him onwards to enter the city. The sacred bird of Athena, goddess of wisdom. The man interpreted this as a sign that he was making the wise choice in coming here, and set out to build his new life.
By Hank Ryder2 years ago in Fiction
A Girl Named Lenore
January 1st, 2021 I must be crazy! So many things have happened this week. My grandfather's memorial service was Monday. It was hard; really hard. I loved that man more than life itself, but at least he isn't suffering anymore. I remember seeing him the night when he died, the whole family was there in his house. I say "whole family" like there is more than 10 of us, but hey, it was nice that everyone could see him one last time. Everyone else had gone to bed, but I stayed up. We were talking, his voice was soft and weak almost like it wasn't there. I felt a part of me snap when he finally passed. Sort of like a part of me died too. I miss him. I miss him so badly. He left me his Banshee though, so it's like he's still here! She's a beautiful owl. He called her a barn owl, but I don't really know enough about them to know the differences between them. Except for snow owls. I only know about them because of those Harry Potter movies. She was heartbroken too she cried the whole time Grandpa was passing from this world to the next. Almost like she was calling his name over and over again. That's the way of life though. "It's appointed once unto man to die" or whatever they say.
By Caleb Myers2 years ago in Fiction