Fantasy
Mother's Protection
"I'll explain everything, just follow –" Marcy had started to tell the newcomer to follow her back to the encampment, but he suddenly disappeared again, emitting no sound and only a faint white light. He vanished as suddenly as he had appeared on the hilltop.
By Justin Moore5 years ago in Fiction
Children of the Oxcairn
Without a doubt, the most enviable of all the powers displayed by children of the Oxcairn was that of prophecy. The discovery of the powers had come about late in the 35th century, and for nearly three hundred years the Oxcairn people had refined their methods, exposed new powers, and used their gifted children to prosper and expand their influence in the empire. Their few, disparate villages had developed into a thriving capital in the central valley of an encircling mountain range. Streets were paved, improved sanitation methods greatly increased life expectancy, and generally the culture thrived where civilizations typically do when they no longer struggle for subsistence. By 3514, a pseudo-religion had emerged and a hieratic succession was codified to administer the development and capitalization of the Oxcairn powers. Many of the various powers exhibited by Oxcairn children were incredibly useful, even instrumental in advancing Oxcairn society, for example, the formidable Temple of Trials would never have been constructed without the earth shifters. It was prophecy, however, that was far more critical to the Oxcairn’s rise to power. Their relatively modest military maintained a history of victories against numerically and technologically superior foes; the trade agreements with their allies always heavily favored the Oxcairn; and they had been effectively immune from any natural disaster, drought, famine, or plague for the entirety of their 800 year history. It is all the more surprising, then, that their sudden and catastrophic end was prophesied by one of their own, and the Oxcairn people might have been saved, had she told anyone.
By Andrew LaBree5 years ago in Fiction
The Permanent Homecoming of P.B. Karpis
I couldn't see anything but streaks of light; behind me, something like two dozen eyes flashing red with the same intensity as the light ahead. Maybe I was disoriented from all the running and split-second decisions trying to shake these guys or something but chancing it with the light seemed like my only option. I had no idea where all the running had gotten me and the panic of the last few minutes seemed to momentarily supersede any concept of a location. I never thought I'd end up in this position again. I only knew the light was the one sure way to shake them and I knew what could happen if I chose it. I took a split second to brace myself for one last dash, possibly my last in every way, and this lent me a flash of courage. I turned my head back toward the crowd, still facing The Road ready to sprint if I saw any pupils start to dilate, and I just asked them, "What do you want from me?"
By Monica Escalera5 years ago in Fiction
The Ghosts of the Eastern Mountain
“I didn’t know fireflies sounded like that.” Jabez opened his eyes in annoyance, his brief moment of rest disturbed by his sister. He regretted showing her the way up onto the top of their family hut. Looking up at the stars late at night with the wooden roof under his back was a peaceful way to end a busy day. The last thing Jabez wanted was a long conversation.
By Alex Cameron5 years ago in Fiction
Katana Rift
Katana Rift didn't really have faith, she more or less willed her way through life and its challenges to find victory. The man she had been looking for however was exactly the opposite. He let everything come to him without much resistance, and it was his faith that allowed him to conquer life's obstacles. He was rumored to have gone to North City where Katana was searching. It had been months since she last saw him.
By Kyle Appleton5 years ago in Fiction
The Wounded Healer
One night my father, Raphael, sitting in his favorite chair, screamed that he could hear a voice telling him to write down what he hears. To him it was a powerful voice with authority that made him feel obligated to obey. He kept screaming; There is a legend among the people that the broken will be fixed, the silent will proudly proclaim, the fighter will find peace and the writer will become a prophet all of this because of him. Father had it written all over his bedroom walls and throughout the pages of his collection of journals. It was painful to watch my dad seemingly go insane. He had been through a rough divorce years ago after his dreams of being a successful author didn’t follow through. In order to make money to sustain us, dad took up fighting at amateur nights. Most nights he would win and we would have a roof over our heads and food to eat, other nights he would lose and he could barely walk home without my help. On both nights Raphaels head was clearly hit too many times apparently. Now he thinks he’s some type of prophet… I guess when you fail at writing anything to attract an audience, go for shock and awe?
By Martel Harris5 years ago in Fiction
Porque Somos Uno
Damp, fragrant pieces of bark clung to the hair on her forearms as Lana surveyed her days' efforts with a satisfied smile. The spring earth was warm under her bare feet. Soft dark earth covered the field, hidden safely now under the camouflage of the deep, moist mulch she'd just finished laying down. The air smelt fresh and perversely alive, full of mushrooms, wet dirt, and pine bark.
By Kaia Maeve Tingley5 years ago in Fiction
Big Foot
Big Foot By: Domineque Bad Bear There was a Native American boy about five or six years of age. With no parents or family around scared, cold and hungry. It started raining and he was so young he didn’t know how to fend for himself in the wild. He laid in the grass crying, hoping, waiting for somebody anybody to hear him to come save him. Many hours went by and nothing, there seemed to be no one around to hear him. Just then, sound of the wind went whooshing past him. Finally, he mustered up the courage and made his way to a nearby creek. As he approached the creek, he seen this big, tall hairy man. He was so tall and oddly covered from head to toe with fur. How unusual he thought. He’s never seen a man that looked like that before. This “man” spoke to him but not directly. Somehow, he could hear this thing talking to him but only through his mind. His lips never moved but he could hear his words clear as day as if this “man” was in his head.
By Domineque Bad Bear 5 years ago in Fiction
