Fantasy
Heirloom
I was growing tiresome, but aside from there being a few hours of daylight left, this forest was full of bare snags that didn't provide much cover, and R.I.S.E. was not known for giving up on a hunt. About a mile to the East of here, there is a creek that still flows through this once-thriving forest. As tempting as it is to set up camp closer to the creek, I am certain that is exactly where they will be looking for me. My best chance at surviving through the night is staying to the West and hoping to find some cover before nightfall.
By Joshua Olivio3 years ago in Fiction
The Remarkable Mind Of Doctor Rockit
“Today is the day!” Tis a day of rambunctious deception, murky sorcery, harmonious magnetism, and fascination. I am a man of my word, my hands have built an empire, far from the prying eyes. There is a dark side to the world, one unseen by most. I, Doctor Rock am the master illusionist on Botany Boulevard. Well, illusion is a fussy word. I could say, conjurer, magician, or mad man.
By Jason Bond3 years ago in Fiction
The Rust
She skated two fingers over the glossy layer of crystalized sugar, then tapped lightly on warm little creme brulee. She knew it wouldn’t break through yet to the pudding center, yet pressed it slightly more, not really wanting to break it quite yet. This was such a rare treat.
By Kathryn Premraj3 years ago in Fiction
End of Beef
The End of Beef A whistle blows; “Mooooooove” is heard loudly overhead. I stand in line, hand to my heart locket, and look over at my sister. We follow forward, shuffling slowly. The facility starts to appear from out of the fog. “What do you think happens once we get inside,” I ask. She doesn’t answer. The line continues forward in the dark.
By Kat Moonin3 years ago in Fiction
Bed Time Story; The Great Goat Trainers!
I am Jed. I live in a small town tucked away in a small state with a lot of woods. My family is primarily immigrants from Ireland that came here during the potato famine, although I did have an aunt that couldn't make up her mind, so she was known for going back and forth on numerous trips. My Grandfather spoke of her being the quirky one. He says she's like my Aunt Lorraine. Or Aunt Lorraine is like her, I should say.
By Jeff Johnson3 years ago in Fiction
The Pixie's Request
Aradia was a fae. The last thing she felt like doing; however, was bobbing around in the sunshine and putting dew on the grass. No, Aradia found much more appeal in the decay and the dark. She understood that nothing could grow without death and rot to fertilize it. She knew intrinsically that dark brought the rest required for daytime things to flourish.
By Sara Rolsen3 years ago in Fiction
Unsheathed
The sound of swords being drawn from their scabbed rang across the line. I stood there at only 14 years of age with bright golden yellow hair and freckles. I held my sword but I was shaking from head to toe from the cold and fear. my father stood upon the walls screaming orders to any and every man. He looked at me with a grim expression, showing in the shadows of his golden hair. I looked to my left and right seeing men twice my age fear-stricken. I raised my voice above the noise and confusion. "Today!" The voices and screams quieted. I swallowed and stepped forward and faced the men I stood with. I raised my sword. "Today!, we stand here." I looked each man in the eyes. "Today we die!" I lowered my sword at them "We die for the ones we protect. We stand to be the swords and shields of the women and children who can't stand with us!" I looked up at my father. Realized I was the only voice to be heard. "Today we become legends! We will feast in the halls of our fathers and their fathers!" A cheer rang through every man who was there. The cheer swiftly stopped, as a bang hit the gates. It shattered instantly. Without looking behind me I turned and ran straight into a horde of zombies. We call them walkers or the cold ones. I swung and cut one in half. A pot of flaming oil purred around me. I slashed it with my sword, sending a spray of it into the surrounding cold ones. Over a half a dozen lit up like an old dead tree. They burned fast. I cut and hacked at the dead for over an hour. Until an eerie scratchy voice called out. The voice echoed off the walls calling for a full retreat of the cold ones. I collapsed to my knees, my sword planted into the ground and my head hung low. After several minutes I stood and looked around. I had a pile of bodies surrounding me at least 4 or 5 feet high. I climbed over the ice-cold corpses and looked at the carnage before me. Fires burning randomly it seemed in the heat of the battle I pushed further out into the cold wastelands than i meant to. So I slid down the pile of bodies and walked back to the fortress. I raised my voice as loud as I could muster. "Hear me. Rally here!" I spun my sword around in the air. Men started to pop up around and started to make their way to me. I looked toward the fortress and saw my father standing there with a couple of dozen archers, all of them except my father seemed overjoyed.
By Luke Grinnell3 years ago in Fiction
Can You Hear Me Now
Can You Hear Me Now? A Modern Bedside Tale There weren't always dragons in the Valley. But there were now, Sightings of them in the Alps had increased over the years, but they were not on the minds of the good people of Rothenburg as they entered Christmas Holiday festivities and the city began to look even more like a Christmas card.
By Cleve Taylor 3 years ago in Fiction
On a page...
I saw blue skies and bright, colorful cars zip past me on a page when I took my first breath. The sky danced with light from an imaginary sun. We all seemed to be living through the colors. That's how we knew whether it was morning or not. We all walked aimlessly and did everything the same way until there was a moment where we were important.
By Shelle Benton3 years ago in Fiction
Episode #37 continuing on with the ghost tour
Ralph begins walking again, darkness surrounding him every step of the way. Still stuck at the end of the line, you pray there isn’t another door ahead. Too late! The squeak of a door in front of you sounds. Reaching for Jordan arm just for some form of security, you feel something sneaking up close behind you. So close you can feel it wrapping itself around your left ankle, jumping straight up, letting out a high-pitched scream you never thought was ever possible.
By Susan McGill3 years ago in Fiction