Fantasy
The New Tenant
My structure seems to ache a little more in recent days. A body, which was once able to expand into different worlds, now only walls to keep this building from collapsing. I use to go on adventures long ago, accompanied by a small child. Eyes still innocent and mind still full of imagination and question. When he first stepped into my womb he seemed unsure. To his defense he was in a new place one he’ll have to call home but from first glances I could tell he still didn’t know what that was. It was I’ll say a month into him roaming this new terrain, inspecting every blemish I tried to hide with a new coat of paint or hole I plastered up quickly without proper care, that he came in and laid in bed. His eyes were shut but water seemed to still swell over his lids and from a slightly opened mouth he said “ I wish I wasn’t alone”. After a few more minutes of crying he got up, grabbed his favorite toys, and began to play with them. I watched as he created worlds and conversations for them. Their stories wrapped around his mind and I was mesmerized. So mesmerized by it that I didn’t notice when shape begun to contort. My walls came tumbling down as what seemed to be a village started to appear through the rubble. His toys then took life size proportions and before I knew it we weren’t in the Windy City anymore. My womb felt as though it had became the sky itself and it was warm. Wooden floor boards became dirt, grass, trees, building that resembled something straight out of feudal Japan, and mountains that kissed the clouds. It felt freeing but confusing. “ How did this happen” I thought to myself then I remembered the boy. I glanced down to see if I could see him and found him and his toys running across the tops of the village’s building. He had a bandana wrapped around his neck, a netted shirt with a utility vest over it. Pants with badges wrapped around the thigh that cut off at the middle of his calves and high top sandals. His face seemed different. It would usually hold a look of sadness but what washed over his face as he jumped from building to building was pure joy. What I feel happiness and safety must be at its truest form. While I watched him glide through the air effortlessly like paper he suddenly stopped. His face, for a brief moment, took on a new form. One of realizing where he actually was and then he looked up, looked at me. Again I’ve somehow became this new destination he could freely roam no individual thing but it was as though he knew exactly where to look to meet my gaze. A little smile that held a “ thank you” crossed his face and he continued through the village. He was a exceptional fighter here. Tai chi mixed in with muay Thai was at his dispose as he cleared woods from monsters and the city from wrong doers. Always the first to jump into action, which was unlike him since he was so reserved in the past. It seemed he could do this all day but then there was a knock on the door. “ Dinner is ready” a voice on the other side said and as the footsteps became faint, the world we were engulfed in shrunk back down to the size of his room originally. His companions now back to mere toys and his clothes back to his uniform. He got up, changed into his pjs, and before leaving looked around again, looked at me and left. That was our very first adventure.
By Bryndan Graham4 years ago in Fiction
If Walls Could Talk
If walls could talk, my voice would be distinctive. So, to speak, I was born in the early 1900s. I was the answer to a wealthy family's desire to enclose their land in the south of France. Every brick and stone that went into my construction was laid with love and attention. I was initially just a plain wall, but as time passed, I was altered to fit the family and the era.
By Alan Otter4 years ago in Fiction
What is a wall but enslaved stones!
If walls could talk, they would sing for you this lovely song, sung by the VAMPYR, while sitting atop my form:"Twelve dreams for the Red Queen under crown of stone. Eight voracious beasts born from eight restless nights. Four nails piercing the flesh of the sinner. One prayer for the summoned called by this song. 'Tis perhaps the countdown to oblivion, for the once proud city of London. 'Tis perchance her inhabitants last dance, alone to face death and pestilence. Confronted by the eerie and unknown, mortals became desperate for answers. A flock's flight makes for an omen, the falling of a star a dire presage. Turning to priests for interpretation when there was no reason to be found. When religion failed, men turned to science. I saw them build such vain cities, crafting machines made for endless war. New questions flourished as old answers withered. What is darkness but lurking sun? What is a wall but enslaved stone? What is glass but tortured sand? What is song but a call to arms? What is hate but jilted love? What is life but Death pending!Since the apple was plucked from the sacred tree, mortality was believed to be God's punishment. A righteous snare to keep mankind from ascending to the stars. They were all so wrong. Death is not a wicked thing, nor some holy retribution. A true punishment would be to never know it's sweet kiss. Awaken from the harshness and be born once more". (From Vampyr Video Game 2018).
By Novel Allen4 years ago in Fiction
Let Us Tell You About Our People
If walls could talk, they say. We do. Made out of grass, sticks and cow dung, we are. We fear nothing but the rain, yes, the rain. When it falls dimly she's our friend, but when it pours angrily with those thick drops of life, sometimes we break and sometimes we die.
By Paula Romeu 4 years ago in Fiction
The magical sword
In the heart of a dense forest, there lived a young man named Caspian. He had always been drawn to the wilderness, spending much of his time exploring the hidden secrets of the forest. However, one day, his exploration led him to discover an old, rusted sword buried deep in the ground. It was a curious find, and Caspian knew there must be more to it than met the eye. Little did he know that this sword would change his life forever.
By Gasim Masaad Ali4 years ago in Fiction
If Walls Could Talk
IF WALLS COULD TALK The Cathedral wall Oh my God, more than 500 years that I was built, and my stones crumble by the action of time and oblivion. I have heard the priest say that they are going to melt me to make a new wall. How can I shout to these deaf humans that it means a lot for them to remember their history, that I keep secrets of saints, murderers, adulterants and pirates. That I have witnessed the birth of a new world on this side of the Atlantic, that I can speak of the first prayer to Heaven, the first Christian sermon, the first confession of love between lovers, the first political revelation, and the first binding of the corsair Drake in this new land, America.
By Raul A Cabral4 years ago in Fiction
Short Compilations
"Crown of Constellations" Snowflakes fell against her palm, melting upon contact and then rolling down to her wrists. A crown of thorns sat deep in the snow, red droplets mixing to a pale pink. Ellie frowned and dropped to her knees. Her hands fell in her lap, her palms greeting the Sun. The plan was never supposed to fall upon her in such a way.
By Lauren Doty4 years ago in Fiction
The Voice off the Wall
"If walls could talk..." The youngest one said quietly, touching the weathered stones of the old wall. There was no reaction from the others, as if they’d never heard him. He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed on it, studying the stonework.
By Peter Maznicki4 years ago in Fiction
