Fantasy
Dark Vessel
I am dragged onto the dark ship with no fear stirring in my belly. I know I should fear this vessel and be terrified of the big black sails and the smell of tar and stardust dominating it. The Dark NebulaI is a ship feared by all but not by me. No, I am taken away by the beauty of it. The fact that something so evil is so beautiful. The dark black wood with strands of silver blood flows through its dark helm, making the ship come alive with mysterious dark power. The sails are covered with immense feathers that shine in the moonlight. The feathers are in many shades of black, yet all equal to their darkness. However, the crew did not match the beauty of the ship. They look as if they have crawled out of the cave they have been trapped in for centuries. With thick layers of dirt that crumbled off them as they walked, their clothes torn and their faces distorted. The only neat thing they have on them is their swords that glisten in the moonlight. I make it to the deck, and above me stands a dark figure. I don't even have to guess who it is. It's the captain.
By Amber Zajec4 years ago in Fiction
The Little Merman
In the briny depths off the coast of a tiny seafaring kingdom once existed a wondrous, hidden realm of merfolk. This underwater kingdom was ruled by a stern yet fair queen, Tritania, who was more than satisfied to keep her kingdom and the human world as separate as can be. The Sea Goddess had blessed the queen with six beautiful daughters and a son before the king's tragic, untimely death, whom she all loved dearly. In truth, Tritania blamed the humans for her husband's demise, and did everything she could to keep her children safe from them. Most of them obeyed her orders... except one.
By Natalie Gray4 years ago in Fiction
The Ice Beneath Her Feet. Top Story - December 2022.
Her timid feet meet the ice. It creaks a quiet haunting tone that blends with the swirl of the blizzard, but it holds. Her confidence rises. She steps forth, fully onto the frozen lake. A lake, they say, but for how far she has to go, they might call it a sea.
By Laurence J. R. Nix4 years ago in Fiction
The Rider
Many words came to describe The Rider such as bold, beautiful, and kind. Words that The Rider herself would have refuted in life but that she cannot refute in death. The only word she seemed fond of for a descriptor was “jovial” which means cheerful or friendly. An odd word for such a fierce woman to take kindly to, but only her lover knew the reasons as to why and now so shall you.
By Jackson Hamm4 years ago in Fiction
The Reflection of My Reflection
Darkness. The first and only thing he could remember was darkness. He could not remember how long he had been in this state, for his memory was not vast, but even so, it was an eternity¬ of twilight; until he heard her. Distant and delicate at first, one he might have not noticed had he not been surrounded by silence. Her voice seemed to pierce through the black that surrounded him. To him, this was the most divine and heavenly thing he had ever experienced. Had he not heard, he never should have known how dreary his existence truly was. Faint, gentle, like an angel her voice was. He followed the echo whenever it dared to resonate in the endless abyss that was his home. When it ceased, he had nothing left to pursue, so he paused and waited to hear it once more in hopes that he would find her, whoever she was.
By Krystin Harrington4 years ago in Fiction
Jewel of the Classroom
“Hello, and welcome back. I hope you all read chapter four,” I said, greeting my criminology class. They nodded. “Alright, pop quiz. Who was Wise Guy? I know you already know the answer to this, Jesse, you can put your hand down. How about, Sarah,” I said. Jesse crossed his arms and smiled. He was the smartest student in the classroom, but also had the biggest attitude. I wanted to make sure the other students were learning, so I didn’t always have him answer.
By Alex H Mittelman 4 years ago in Fiction
The Black Ibis Case - Chapter 7
The streets were silent as I slowly passed through them. I watched people come out of their buildings and walk mindlessly towards their work or to their cars, like they were on autopilot. I could see many others gripping their steering wheels tightly, too tightly in some cases, and smoking one puff after the next in rapid succession. These people were stressing themselves out about their day’s tasks before they had even begun, and for a moment I felt better about my situation. As strange as things may have gotten, at least I’m not stuck behind some desk crunching numbers repeatedly for the sake of some corporate overlord who doesn’t even acknowledge my existence as anything but an asset to him, or a drain on resources to be removed if I’m not profitable enough.
By Georges-Henri Daigle4 years ago in Fiction
