Excerpt
World in Tatters Ch1
“Hey, Rach!” I shout as we unload our gear from the horses into the little grey house. “I’m right here, you don’t have to yell.” I hadn’t even seen her as she circled around behind me. She’d learned to be a lot quieter on her feet. The results of training and a hell of a lot of practice in the woods.
Kevin BarkmanPublished 7 months ago in FictionRoad to Nowhere
I had been on the road for days, or maybe weeks; the concept of time seemed like an illusion, a joke played by the universe. My real name was lost to me, buried beneath layers of disillusionment and existential fatigue. Aaron? Adam? Brandon? Carl? No, my name began with an “A,” whatever it was. Names were only a beginning, a means to an end. Descriptive things to be used as identifiers and discarded when their function was no longer relevant. Mine had been forgotten long ago, and I have adopted many since. Lately, it had been Max. The highway stretched endlessly before me, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through the heart of the American night. My car, a rusty old Cadillac that had seen better days, rumbled beneath me like a loyal but equally weary companion. I call her “Luna”, because she always sees me through the night.
Aaron RichmondPublished 7 months ago in FictionOver Jordan
Two days into her cross-country podcasting journey, Cassandra was cruising through Pennsylvania on Interstate I-80 West with her influencer friend, trying t0 half-sleep away her anxiety in the passenger seat of her boyfriend’s 2015 Nissan Versa. She dipped briefly into dream logic and felt, for a few seconds, that the cold wind blowing through her naked toes was the same sound as the twangy guitar crackling through old speakers in her memory.
Steve HansonPublished 7 months ago in FictionThe Undesirables: chapter 1
I am a monster. Why, you ask. Maybe it’s my strange, frightening appearance. Then again, I was never much to look at, even before I became like this. Maybe it’s the lives I’ve taken or the countless others I’ve ruined. They all had it coming, of course. I may be a monster, but I’m not a mindless killer! Maybe it’s the simple fact that I couldn’t fit into societal norms, no matter how hard I tried. So what makes me a monster? I’ll tell you my story and let you decide.
Morgan Rhianna BlandPublished 7 months ago in FictionA Mother's Prayer
art wr**Title: A Mother's Prayer - The Unforgiving Border** Once upon a time, in a small village nestled deep in the heart of Guatemala, lived Maria, a resilient woman with a heart of gold. Her life revolved around her family - her husband, Miguel, and their two children, Elena and Mateo. They were a happy family, filled with dreams and hopes for a brighter future. But life in their village was becoming unbearable. The land was dry, crops were failing, and the shadows of a dangerous gang loomed over them like a dark cloud.
Opeyemi Rasheed AremuPublished 7 months ago in Fiction- Top Story - September 2023
A Time of Great Anger
The day dawned a bit earlier than usual across the ruins of the old family farm, which was just fine and dandy for the Great Horned owl who made its nest in the barn’s loft. That wise old owl knew just about everything there was to know about that ramshackle mess of a farm, for he was there at its rise, its corruption, and its eventual downfall. He’d lived through all of it. ‘Twas a grand downfall, too--one that most who had lived there never saw coming, except for the observant few who paid close attention to the signs.
Jackie BarrowsPublished 7 months ago in Fiction The Raven
A group of ravens is a conspiracy or an unkindness. What I will tell you is far from scheming or cruel – perhaps unnerving at best; mildly unnerving to you, reader, might I clarify, as you are not here with me. You should be glad you are not here. I am glad you are not, and this is not because I do not wish to come across you; rather for your psyche's sake I pray you remain away. This slate of parchment was once blank entirely, and I think, for your welfare, you should put this down, tuck it into the desk drawer and leave it there beneath another leaflet or two for the next one to find.
Claire von HavenPublished 7 months ago in Fiction- Runner-Up in Next Great [American] Novel Challenge
Before the Bad
"All I know is that the car is blue," Mel thought, looking up the gray street, brushing away hair the cold wind kept blowing in her face. How did she get here, alone on Thanksgiving Day, waiting for a car she'd never seen driven by people she'd never met to take her to a house she'd never set foot in to have a turkey dinner?
Rebecca MortonPublished 8 months ago in Fiction Weegie Wolf?
The eegit bit me. I had bin on the scrounge fir some hash tae tide me over ‘til I could get mah next script of Methadone. I had heard Wee Tam had a stash of cheap gear in Maryhill. I was staying at Dennistoun, in a pal’s flat just oaf The Parade (Alexandra Parade), which wisnae too far away frae Maryhill tae be fair. I hid been clean fir aboot 10 weeks and counting and wis determined tae beat this disease. I jist needed something tae take the sweats and jitters aff. It wid take a long time, but I hid a sponsor and hid bin attending meetings and like frae the get-go.
Paul StewartPublished 8 months ago in FictionMoe Tobacco
Who doesn’t enjoy American poverty? It’s ‘bout a good 11AM as I step outside my front door. My bare copper colored feet feeling every bit of the summer heat from the concrete porch. My joggers slightly sag, displaying the brand name of the boxers I’m wearing. The wife-beater tank top I sport allows the tattoos on both my arms to shine. With my left hand, I rub my nappy goatee before touching my equally nappy Afro to make sure it’s all still there. As my senses become fully online, my eyes start to match visuals with the beautiful cacophony transpiring.
Kece SunrosePublished 8 months ago in FictionWelcome Home, Craig
“Caledonia you’re calling me and now I’m coming home” – Caledonia by Dougie Maclean I had just boarded the last stage of my long trek home from New York to Glasgow at London Heathrow. Another hour or so and I would be on home turf again for the first time in a decade. Was I looking forward to it? In some ways, yes. Glasgow has always been my first love. It is where I grew up, got my education, where I met the love of my life before screwing it up beyond repair. There’s a line in the song Caledonia by Dougie Maclean “I have moved, and I’ve kept on moving, proved the points I needed proving.” That, at least in part, explains why I moved, despite loving Glasgow so much.
Paul StewartPublished 8 months ago in FictionChapter 1 of “Gravel”
Mark was one of those guys who floated through life buoyed by his natural charm and likability. With bleach-blonde hair and steroid-swollen biceps, the overwhelming impression he gave was that of a gym-bro surfer, despite hailing from some small town in north Jersey. Jack had met him after a gig at one of those stately old Midtown hotels that had been the center of the socialite scene a century before, but whose cramped rooms were now full of tourists who hadn’t read the reviews and whose grand ballroom mostly hosted corporate events. They were both freelance cater-waiters who spent their time rushing around the ballroom during fundraising galas and company dinners. The venue kept the lights low to hide the peeling paint and water stains on the ceiling, but peering into the shadows long enough revealed that the hotel’s best days were long behind it.
J. Otis HaasPublished 8 months ago in Fiction