Fable
A peacock, a weasel, and a pear tree
The peacock Peacock was molting. It was his first molt and and he wasn’t taking it very well. He was very proud of his feathers. He thought of himself as the most handsome creature in the garden. He loved to strut around Julia’s Perennial Tea House impressing guests when they came to buy peonies and drink tea. But now he was afraid. At any moment he could lose another feather and it was only a matter of time until his rump looked bare and his fan of color was gone. He could see the trend, but he didn’t want anyone else to know what he was going through. Each time a feather fell out he surreptitiously took it in his beak and relocated it to a hiding place. And when he showed off his fan of color he was coy, not opening the fan all the way, so that what feathers he still had made a solid band of color, even if it was a narrower band of green and blue than it used to be. He hoped it looked intentional, as if he were in too much of a hurry, going someplace important, to open his fan all the way.
By Alice Eckles3 years ago in Fiction
The Magic Pear Tree
In a very secluded forest there was a magical pear tree. Trees are known to live for extremely long periods of time undisturbed and the magic pear tree was no exception. The magical energy of the tree was so strong the fruit it bore yearlong was practically glowing a golden color. One day a group of explorers stumbled upon the tree and partook of it’s fruit. When they did the spirit of the tree spoke and amazingly addressed each of the explorers by their name without being told. As they stared with their mouths agape in disbelief the tree told them they may have one wish but to keep the tree a secret.
By Christopher “CJ” Herring3 years ago in Fiction
A Pear Tree in Autumn
I think I was getting close to the end of my rope when I found that postcard. My gallery was on the verge of bankruptcy, I had just been dumped, and my favorite coffee shop had closed due to one too many botched health inspections. I wasn’t even certain I would make it through the week, so I was pretty surprised that something as small and insignificant as a postcard was able to change my life.
By David Angell3 years ago in Fiction
Sibilla
Summer In a modestly sized but no less verdant garden courtyard there stood the most obstinate tree James Midsummer had ever had the misfortune to care for. He stood beside it now, roughing the bark with his old calloused hands, then sighing and looking up into the canopy where bits of sky blue were scattered like confetti amongst the many shades of green.
By D. C. Jacobs3 years ago in Fiction
The Cursed Prince and the Boy's Cure
Gone too long! Young Sidion nervously wove a leather cord between his fingers; his eyes straining for the first glimpse of their return. No one came. He held up the cord and shined the medallion - a spearheaded fish encircled in silver - between finger and thumb. His father, Theron, and grandfather, Hurley, had chased after this elusive fish, merely a local legend retold among the fishing families in the river town of Rapidshire.
By Emily Snow 3 years ago in Fiction
A Pair of Black Cats
Many moons ago, in a suburb of Pennsylvania, there once lived an intriguing pair of black cats. Matilda and Mildred were the only survivors in a litter of ten, born of a sickly mother. Matilda, the oldest by three minutes, was long and lean, quick-witted and agile. Unfortunately, she also had a bit of an attitude problem and was abrupt with her words. Mildred, on the other hand, was short and stout, solid and sentimental. She could chat for hours, loving meaningful conversation.
By Marilyn Glover3 years ago in Fiction