Classical
The Frozen Pond Part Three
“Okay, I understand what you are saying, and you are my best friend too, but this new information about me dying is scaring the crap out of me, Leroy. I have never encountered anything like this before, and I am distraught right now. Thanks for having my best interest at heart. I don’t know what I would do without you. Just keep me posted on the developments.” Tazi said.
By Theresa Evans3 years ago in Fiction
The Frozen Pond Two
Taz replied, “You have one week to convince this city that I Taz come in peace, and if I do not see a humble heart within that week, the pond will stay frozen.” Tazi knew that she had her work cut out for her, but she disappeared into the frozen pond before she could ask Taz any more questions. Tazi said, “Well, I guess I will get to work, but first, I need to go back to the hotel and do some digging of my own.”
By Theresa Evans3 years ago in Fiction
Broken Trust
Originally published here Something I’ve been working on for a while, after numerous discussions/rants about Greek Mythology. One of those was whether Hera was oversimplified, because there were several of Zeus’s children who didn’t earn her wrath. Therefore, this was born.
By Natasja Rose3 years ago in Fiction
The Publisher's Prejudice
“To my friends I am known as Mace, to my clients Mr Nase, and to you I am God.” So spoke the elderly publisher with a kind of judicious weight on each syllable, shaking his opposite’s hand, and dressing the furniture in his coat. His entrance had heralded a collective holding of the café’s breath, and only when Mr Nase was seated were the ricochets of quotidian busyness around allowed to reanimate – albeit in his orbit. Although the room was overpopulated with the clanging of spoons on crockery and the timekeeping of invisible footsteps, their shadows were mute; the world outside the little table between these two men was intangible, a cacophony of meaning so multivalent that it seeped into their senses as white noise; but here, there was anticipation, a shared sense of gravity, as if a letter were to slide through the door imminently with the kind of news enclosed that changes a life. It was under this very gravity that the publisher leaned back for a moment and let his hands tesselate on the finely tailored trousers lining his lap. His eyes wandered around the place with a purposeful gait, apparently indifferent to the silent defiance returned by the author opposite him.
By H. R. M. Laventure3 years ago in Fiction
The Day the Sickness Came
It seemed like a regular work day on the day that the sickness came. After work I went to the gym and saw it one of the TVs playing the news. I had my elliptical headphones tuned into something else, but I saw the ticker running across the bottom of another screen. “World Health Organization Declares Coronavirus a Global Pandemic”. There had been some murmurings about this new virus online and at work, but I wasn’t sure it was going to amount to anything. After all, we had prepared for an Ebola virus pandemic that never came. There were team meetings where we laid out what our response would be. We learned how to don and doff hooded masks that we never ended up using. But when this virus came, things seemed different. The first inkling was when masks started disappearing from the supply closet. I thought it was strange, so I stashed some in one of my office drawers for safekeeping. You could feel it in the air that something weird was going on. So, when they announced the pandemic, I knew my Spidey senses had been right. I decided to stop by the grocery store on the way home from the gym. I wanted to stock up on some freezer and canned goods, as well as some dry stuff for the pantry. Surprisingly, the store was pretty empty except for the people stocking the shelves. As I wandered aimlessly down the baking aisle, trying to think about what I would need for a pandemic, my eyes landed on a box of cake mix. It was one that was familiar from my childhood; a red box with a slice of chocolate cake pictured on the front. I reached for the box. I had no idea how long we might have to be in the house. I might want a little slice of comfort for the end times.
By Jarita Hagans3 years ago in Fiction
The Great James Gates
Inspired by the Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. The Great James Gates Most people let life happen to them. Coasting on each gust of wind that pushes them toward their inevitable end. And then, there are those few rare people who happen to life.
By Leah Harris3 years ago in Fiction
A Sense Of Smell
Oh, the sweet pang of pain. Tatvik’s drugged brain failed to feel the intensity of the operating pieces of equipment entering him, but a soft feeling engulfed him completely, his bubbling mind, imagining things, yesteryear memories caressing him by, all his senses, as if exploding and bursting, creating an orchestra of a cacophonic circus of thoughts, and he seemed to get sucked into that realm, slowly, slowly.
By somsubhra banerjee3 years ago in Fiction