Fantasy
A Farewell to Hemingway
A Farewell to Hemingway Eric C. Hartlep Hemingway never had to beat his so he could get to sleep, there were always girls along the Boulevard du Montparnasse at the Select or the Jockey Club. And if late at night the words wouldn’t come, and he couldn’t sleep and let the creative well fill again, to have something new to write in the morning, he could go out, even cross the Seine near Notre Dame if he had to, no longer a good place for a writer to go, and always find a girl.
By ERIC C HARTLEP5 years ago in Fiction
Anthi and M
Note 1 The real world is much smaller than the imaginary. Nietzsche Crete (Region 4) became heaven for Anthi and M; I mean me. We left Athens (in Region 1) for Crete as close friends and returned to Athens twelve days later as inseparable lovers. Anthi refused to speak to her husband, already considering him her ex and her why, though Delphine had come out from their union, the only worthwhile and beautiful result. I loved her, but I was green when thinking that Delphine could call me Father or Dad instead of M. I never planned to be a father, though I could never have declined the idea of a daughter like her. She was as wonderful as her mother, and the direct cause of our union, having revealed that her father was cheating on Anthi. I could not believe it. How could anyone in their right mind prefer someone else over Anthi? I figured that he must be demented and or as stupid as stupid can get. We were meant to be together. It was set in motion after the Big Bang. Goddess Athena only facilitated our primordial desire to be together, granting us a union in our nightly dreams. But it was Delphine who hastened our coming together (pun perhaps intended).
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Fiction
Guardian Angel
The city burned as the boy and the knight crested the first of the hills beyond the cannon-marred fields surrounding the now-fallen walls. The shrieks and ululations of the inhuman invaders resounded throughout the broken parapets and bloodied streets as twisted things scurried through the rubble of what had once been a shining bastion of the lands of men.
By Donovan Bottini5 years ago in Fiction
BwaaRhooz
The well-worn wood of his hatchet was an ever-reassuring weight in his hands as he traced the familiar steps around Zhardaens perimeter. Bren stared deep into blood red undergrowth of the BwaaRhooz, the flames from his torch casting ominous shadows. He held his hand up to the torch, manipulating the shadow so it crudely resembled the jaws of a ferocious beast. He chuckled, remembering how his boys would squeal with mock terror as they saw his lumbering shadow make its way to their room just before they slept, playing the role of a hungry giant who would eat little boys that stayed awake past dark. Bren was meant to be keeping watch. Watching for the mist, and that which accompanied it. But his mind was elsewhere.
By Tom Jobling5 years ago in Fiction
A disastrous Day
The Roman centurion, Aurelius Seneca, crept through the bushes, trying to be as silent as possible; he knew his men were behind him, ready to support him. He knew that he represented the most powerful, the mightiest nation on the planet. He knew that no army had ever defeated them; they were the best, the strongest, the most powerful.
By Richard Lawrence5 years ago in Fiction
The Blue Box
Puspha came to her doorstep. She saw a large blue box wrapped with a red bow. She was excited and at the same time confused as to what was in the blue box and who'd delivered the package to her. She picked it up, it was a little heavier than she'd expected. She held it on one arm while she opened her handbag to get the key to unlock the front door.
By Dharan Murali5 years ago in Fiction
A Tuesday in Time
The assignment hadn’t looked difficult. I stepped sideways, and reentered Time. I had chosen my landing spot perfectly – Vienna, early December, the Christkindlmarkt. Air crisp and chill, with snowflakes drifting gently down out of the black sky, more delicate than any of the glittering jewelry on display. The indulgent scent of gluhwein and pastries made my mouth water; there’s nothing like hot spiced wine on a cold night in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
By Margie Keith5 years ago in Fiction
Dragon Scorned
Clambering metals in the night interrupt an otherwise peaceful slumber. A group of knights stormed a cave filled with coins and jewels. A symphony of coloured riches that lay as the dragon's bed. They paint the walls with beautiful lights as the armoured mob's torches lit the treasured cave. The large dragon thrashes about with it's tail and claws, taking out some of the brave soldiers that dared enter the scaled beast's abode. They scream and groan as their metal apparel slams against rock, yet their resolve is mighty. Fire from the beast's mouth scorches some others, yet they push on. The dragon is soon overwhelmed by the number against it. It did all it could, but there were too many to combat against with their aria of weaponry. As she lay defeated, one young knight, too scared to enter the initial fray, stayed back to start collecting the lost treasures. The beautiful colours no longer danced on the walls of the cave, only death loomed there now. Rustling came from under the mound of riches. The dragon had a child, presumably why it fought so hard. She was protecting her child from the human invaders. The dragon child shook in fear with its reveal to the knight. The poor thing had witnessed the end of its mother's life and this might spell the the same fate for it as well. The knight, however, took pity on the scaly child and would not harm it. He left the cave for a moment to see if others returned to assist in the acquiring of the treasures, and there they came with carts to load, yet far enough still for the little dragon's escape. The knight rushed in and the dragon staggered back, caught off guard while nuzzling its mother gone. The knight waved the dragon to leave the cave, swinging his arms frantically to maybe scare the child to flee. The dragon took heed, ran out of its home and took flight into the dawn's rising hours. The knight let out a sigh of relief as the others returned none the wiser to the dragon child's existence. He looked into the sunrise, hoping he did the right thing.
By Adam Franco5 years ago in Fiction
