Fantasy
Once Upon a Lie
The castle prison cells are cold and damp. Moss grows through the cracked cobblestone walls and mice nibble at the remains of unfortunate prisoners who did not see the light of day again. It is certainly no place for a princess, and yet here I stand, looking at my husband through iron bars. He is chained to the wall by his hands and feet, a wooden mask strapped to his face. The mask is rough and splintered with two eye holes but no mouth, made especially for him and his crimes. As bad as things ended between us, he is still my husband and I still love him.
By Scott Bradbrook4 years ago in Fiction
On a Monorail Headed Nowhere
9:43am - Barbecue was no stranger to waking up in new places surrounded by shaking ground and shouting people. In fact, that usually meant that the chems were doing their job and she had found out quick that the new alchemist she met up with in the Colorado River Encampment knew his stuff. Once she had more or less oriented herself to her surroundings she recognized that she was in some kind of moving vehicle with a lot of angry people and no apparent driver. She also noticed that this vehicle was full of exclusively Humans. She didn't see any other Labbies, nor did she see any Elves or Gracklen or anything. This wasn't unheard of but it was particularly unusual for the kind of groups she ran around with. After a couple more minutes, she noticed something that she had never before seen in her life. Outside of the vehicle was a city. Not some encampment, not some tent town, and definitely not some sad collection of run-down buildings that the inhabitants had decided to call a city. There were vehicles and Humans and buildings still in one piece as far as she could see. The whole place looked like it was pre-crash, but there was only one of those and she couldn't have possibly gotten in. Especially not on accident and especially not on accident on chems with a gaggle of raiders.
By Tyler McGlothen4 years ago in Fiction
A Servant's Tracks
The same soft thumping of the train going over tracks that had presumably lulled me into a slumber now stirred me from my restless dreaming and brought me back to the reality that sleep had tried to protect me from. The train. The soft light of the moon. The condensation coating the windows. The hushed conversation of other passengers. The man, sitting across the table from me, waiting for me to wake.
By Alex Bellerose4 years ago in Fiction
1983. Top Story - July 2022.
The year is 1983, and I am going to turn thirteen in November. It's the third of June. I have already seen Return of the Jedi five times. I am proud of this fact, at this critical time in my life, as it is currently three more times than my best friend, Kale. His name is actually Justin, but like me, his folks are Portuguese, and it seems like every meal is kale this, kale that. So, I just call him Kale, “Kale of the Kale Family, The family who eats kale.” He doesn’t seem to mind being called “Kale,” and I let him call me “Flinch,” somehow that describes my nervous, distracted nature better than “John.” Life is simple. School and friends and movies and video games. Speaking of games, Kale and I are supposed to be going to see War Games tonight.
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Fiction
The Dark Place
The Dark Place By Tanika Smith Wheatley Prologue Donna and The Dark Forest I have always loved horse riding, usually galloping through the woods, across meadows or along the beach; but today, I found myself pleasantly and slowly riding a horse down a narrow country lane lined with fragrant Camellia which had been one of my grandmother’s favourite plants; she had had several Camellia in her garden, when alive. The sun shone warmly on my face and I turned my face upwards, to enjoy its warmth - I breathed in the flower’s enchanted fragrance deeply - I was so captivated with the pleasant ride that I almost fell from the horse when my grandmother suddenly ran out from between the Camellia plants and grabbing the bridle, abruptly stopped my horse – naturally I was pleased to see her; but I was also perplexed and wanted to say, ‘but…you’re supposed to be dead…’ but I felt afraid that my words might break the spell of her ethereal presence s0 I silently let her lead us down a tiny (and narrowing) path through a darkening forest – no more pretty Camelia plants - until we reached a clearing and I had to blink from the sudden brightness after being in the dark woods before I realized - we were in the middle of a cemetery – still; we continued in silence, until she stopped - and pointed - and I gasped – I had to climb down from my horse to take a closer look to be sure I was seeing correctly – two identical simple white tombstones standing side by side - one with my name on it, and the other blank – but when I turned to question her about this strange phenomenon, she’d vanished…
By TANIKA SMITH WHEATLEY4 years ago in Fiction
