Fantasy
Fear of Dragons
Once upon a time a young girl in a small village fell in love with a boy. It was a pure love, and a true love, and it thrilled her and scared her at the same time. It was giddy and new and made her feel special and important and valued. Over time the girl grew selfish, and vain, and proud and thought of herself more as a “princess,” and thought of the boy as less of a “prince.” As time went on she did and said mean, hurtful, spiteful things to the boy she loved most in an attempt to make herself feel powerful, and through her actions destroyed the love that she had once valued so.
By Michell Witt3 years ago in Fiction
The Flame
In old times, there were men who, in their folly, sought immortality. But the gods are jealous, and their gifts are often twisted. The candle lights the eyes with a ghostly glow that accompanies the choking stench of incense. The thought is, the finer the quality of the incense, the more holy the place becomes. That one can smell the scent of the gods in the form of fragrance is, to worshippers of the modern age, only one example of one of those quaint superstitions of their ancestors. The flames roar, filling the room; filling her ears with the roaring of waves in long lost memories. This is the sound of endless waves lapping against the shores. The candle's flames glow like the sun, but in a hallucinatory intensity. It is as if she is the center of this fiery light. The man sits beside the woman, watching the streams of flame as they reach upward into a transcendent light. With no words, the man approaches the flame and stares into the display of hypnotic fire. The goddesses of old raved about their majesty and too many male gods were lost to the allure… or perhaps they were not lost at all, but subsumed, or even enslaved to the powers of the sun. In her hands, the woman holds a small heart-shaped locket, and the flames bring her an illusion of her reflection.
By Melissa Connolly3 years ago in Fiction
The Great Muscle
“Monsters like these cannot be created, that’s fact not fiction”. Maybe he was right. These type of inhuman , Frankenbeast , probably illiterate sort of militia couldn’t have existed before. I should have known that allowing such a disgusting competition to see who would earn the high stakes, but such basic necessities, wouldn’t be in my greatest interest. How can I muster up enough courage to stop such a brigade? Shoot. I mean… shit.
By Karen Wright3 years ago in Fiction
Escape
We didn’t know what to call it, so we just called it The War. It was the last war of our world, and it happened roughly 100 years ago- according to our parents at least, but they were already dead and they heard the story from their parents. All we had left to remember them was a golden heart shaped locket I wore around my neck containing their picture and our father's rosary bestowed upon my brother. The world they knew was a wasteland now, and we’d been living in this bunker since the day we were born. We knew nothing of the outside world, other than what we saw in the magazines and read about in the old newspapers our grandparents had kept as memories. This underground bunker contained our entire 18 years of life. My entire 18 years of life. We were twins, but not the sort who look the same. We were both unlucky enough to be born in this miserable hole at the same time.
By Kelson Hayes3 years ago in Fiction
Glaedreon
A mother's tears are shed from the heart. When the extension of the astral plane bore nothing but emptiness, cold and dark, it brought a somber weight on her heart. The translucent tears that fell from her cheeks, sparkled and glittered like a thousand diamonds. Each drop fell to her feet, sprinkling along the plane like a million budding flowers. The darkness is really so lonely, so desolate. But to the mother's surprise, a cry above her own reverberated through the darkness. From her tears, life was born.
By Danica Bodley3 years ago in Fiction
Lost Locket Of Eden
Lost Locket of Eden Unwillingly I said goodbye to him as he rushed out the door again, my intuition reminding me yet again that I was only being used as a stepping stone, a means to an end. I know he will never love me the way I love him, but during this nightmare amongst us those who are remaining cling to any bit of love, friendship or vice that keeps us just that little bit sane while feeding us hope at the same time. Even the strongest are hanging on by a thread. There are not many of us left here in my home town, having connection is difficult as it feels like we are all in a race against time with each other. I've stopped keeping track of what level I am on now. It was a couple months ago when i unlocked my first set of abilities, I keep that information to myself till I completely understand how I am supposed to be using them and why. Another factor is if your doing well and having successful missions and wins it makes you an easy target around here.
By Alyssa Sullivan3 years ago in Fiction
Warden Gordon and the Angel in the Woods
Gryff Gordon, at 29 years of age, had nearly 20 years’ experience working in one park or another. Growing up as a child in a village called Chesterton-Burnleigh on the South Downs, he’d been a Cub and then a Scout, and as a little boy he’d started on walks with him, volunteering picking litter in the parks or on the beaches and taking it as seriously as a little boy could.
By Johannes T. Evans3 years ago in Fiction