Fantasy

The Goddess of Misery
Oor tale begins on the dusty, dirty streets o' whit wid eventually become Glesga, lang afore electric lichts or cobbles. The locals lived unner the shadow o' poverty and death. Hope wis as scarce as a full, satisfied belly.
By Paul Stewart3 months ago in Fiction
River Rays
For fun I used a prompt generator: Here is what it gave me: Genre-FANTASY: Epic / High Occupation- Chef Location- Pool Conflict- Experiencing memory loss
By L.I.E3 months ago in Fiction
RAD
"We said no food fights Jung!" Jung Foote catapaulted his mashed potatoes toward the nearest table of girls. I cringed, and ducked the food heading our way.
By A. S. Lawrence3 months ago in Fiction
Love and chess
" Can I tempt you to a game ?" "Well yes, why not? You must know that I find it hard to resist." "I start then." "What? No game board to set up?"
By Raymond G Taylor3 months ago in Fiction
Bind the Flesh 🐺. Content Warning.
When I look at the werewolf, hanging there chained, smirking as if it's all a big joke I don't get... I want to smack him in his smug, symmetrical face. Bad enough that I had to bring him into my house .
By L.C. Schäfer4 months ago in Fiction
The Trip
Mac spent time with me every day. He was so mindful of me and knew how deeply I was still in love with him, after all our years together. Our affection had endured for many years. We met in college and were inseparable. We went to grad school together and were never apart. Our love was the subject of many conversations. The soulmate bond we shared was something I had always been aware of. He felt it from the first day we met, and he still did. It was hard to explain how it felt. I couldn't even remember whether I found him or he found me. Mac and I were just meant to be together. Nothing else ever seemed to get in the way of that.
By Alexandra Grant4 months ago in Fiction
WHEN FIRE BECAME CLAY
Hell had grown old around him. Its first fires no longer roared. They listened. They had learned the shape of his silence. They had learned the weight of his footsteps. They had learned that when Lucifer sat upon the black throne and said nothing, whole kingdoms trembled in the memory of Heaven.
By Alejandro Arango4 months ago in Fiction
The Gloam: A World on the Edge
The Gloam was not a thing that could be reasoned with. It did not negotiate. It did not pause. It simply advanced, a slow-moving tide of shadow and silence that swallowed everything in its path. The world had been shrinking for generations, its boundaries pushed back by an enemy that could not be defeated, only delayed. And now, the City stood as the last bastion of light, a fragile beacon in a sea of encroaching darkness.
By Mark Lim 4 months ago in Fiction
The Morning Rush: Amber's Journey Through the School Transit Tube
Amber slipped onto the school transit tube, slotting into place among thirty other students in the carriage. The chairs filled the interior in a pair of long columns, three by ten. She moved with the ease of an expert, gliding in and around the other students till she found her seat with her friends. The last to arrive out of the trio, she had earned the aisle seat. Sitting down, she placed her satchel between her legs.
By Mark Lim 4 months ago in Fiction
The New Face on the Transit Tube
Amber settled into her familiar rhythm, the hum of the maglev engines a comforting backdrop to the morning chatter. Her satchel rested between her feet, its familiar weight grounding her. Mira and Lila were already deep in their usual debate this time about the ethics of the new AI-guided history curriculum, but Amber's attention drifted away from their voices.
By Mark Lim 4 months ago in Fiction
Some Vacation!
It was a gorgeous morning. The sun was shining, and the bluebirds were singing. The trees whispered stories of their youth, and the creek babbled away, clean and clear. I gave a stretch and a yawn. It was a good day to be alive!
By Alicia Anspaugh4 months ago in Fiction
The Wrong Instrument
Ella Volkov could play the harp perfectly. That was the problem. Twenty-six strings. Seven pedals. Her father had chosen it for her when she was six years old, the way he chose everything deliberately, with a vision of who she was going to become already fixed in his mind. "The harp is elegant," he'd said. "Prestigious. A serious instrument for a serious musician."
By Mark Lim 4 months ago in Fiction