Excerpt
Nineteen
The sun crept across the sky in its September slant, and shadows began to stretch from the tree line to the green. Heyward presented Josh with a pair of beach store flip flops, pink to match his freshly painted toenails, to wear into the clubhouse. Masie shed her ball cap and fluffed her dark tresses before Heyward crowned her with the Chartreuse Chapeau. She raised her red plastic Champion’s Chalice and said, “Thanks, Ponyboy. I’ll wear it with honor befitting its genesis.”
By Harper Lewis 3 months ago in Fiction
The Message That Was Never Meant for Me
At 2:11 AM, one notification changed everything I believed in. At exactly 2:11 AM, my phone lit up in the dark. I wasn’t supposed to be awake. I had an early morning, and I remember telling myself I needed sleep. But something about the silence of the night felt strange, almost heavy, like the world was holding its breath.
By Behind the Curtain3 months ago in Fiction
Birdies and Bogeys
The brothers of Sigma Alpha Epsilon cheered for Masie when she dropped an easy putt for par. Josh was playing worse than usual and bogeyed, then Ben got his par, and everyone watched Marty take his birdie shot. When it sank, Masie smiled and said, “You have until we get to the next tee to come up with a dare for Josh,” before taking off for the par three third, leaving Josh and Marty to deal with the fraternity brothers.
By Harper Lewis 3 months ago in Fiction
The Song The Florescent Lights Sang
I remember the creaking of the old wooden stairs, each one greeting the tips of my toes as I crept down into the cool of the basement. Dark wooden walls framed the descent into a room that was filled with the magic of lost, drying arts. The fluorescent lights always flickered on with a wink before settling into a familiar hum that lulled lazily - a strange lullaby for a place so full of wonder. The air was scented with the rustic scents of metal and grease - a perfume of mechanics and hands that knew how to labor. Work benches lined the walls and were laid with an organized chaos of tools, rubber, cork, feathers, and dried deer tails - a mismatched craftsman’s rainbow.
By Ellie Hoovs3 months ago in Fiction
Blightborn Legacy
Prologue The first thing was not just darkness. Darkness is an absence. This was a presence. A suffocating, all-encompassing pressure that was the texture of oblivion itself. Time was not a river here; it was a stagnant, cold lake, and he had no idea how long he had been drowning in it.
By Stephanie Wright3 months ago in Fiction
