Fantasy
The Harpist
In a dusty hostel in the low end of the machinist quarter, I worked as a server. My father worked in one of the smelters, and each night he would stumble in with his other workers and collapse into a table for hours, and spend their wage on drink and meat. Mother had already passed, and no one else was at home, so it seemed right to be near him and make sure he ate before he stumbled home again to sleep and ready himself for the next shift. When he died, there wasn't much reason for me to stay, but it felt like I couldn't be closer to my father anywhere else, and the men who knew him would check in on me from time to time, so I stayed on.
By Wray_written2 years ago in Fiction
The Riversource. Runner-Up in Fantasy Prologue II Challenge. Top Story - November 2024.
The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. Or rather, it finally ran forwards, according to the laws that govern other rivers— the Queen’s magic had kept it rebelling against gravity since before the earliest memories of the eldest townsfolk. In all of their grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ stories, the river churned improbably uphill.
By Amelia Grace Newell2 years ago in Fiction
The Story of the Realm. Top Story - November 2024.
The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. Rook looked up from the playbook. “That sounds cool.” “Maybe for you,” grumbled Bishop, his grey eyes narrowing. “All my merchant barges will flow your direction now.”
By Sonia Heidi Unruh2 years ago in Fiction
Inheritance
The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. The leaves drifted upwards to their naked branches, the apples on the ground shedding their rot. Even the animals, at least those of lesser intelligence, were affected; the rabbits leapt out of the ground as the squirrels dug up their nuts, spreading them across the fields and forests as the once encroaching winter now faded back to autumn.
By Reid Christmann2 years ago in Fiction
The Sundering. Top Story - November 2024.
The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. It was the final whisper of doom, the ghost of a portent unseen, for in those days the art of reading such things had been long lost to men. Something long chained had been loosed; woeful calamity befell the realms of men, one upon the other. These estranged and wayward misfortunes had hitherto not been fathomed as one singular ruin. And so, when the sun shone bright and brilliant, many thought it the first day of summer and not the end of the world.
By R. B. Booth2 years ago in Fiction
Every One of Them
"The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished." "Grandma!" 8-year old Charlie uncrossed his legs and stood up from the floor with a huff. "You promised, no more baby stories." Without waiting for a reply, he shuffled across the floor. Charlie didn't even see the near-miss of Jessica's dainty fist lashing out in his direction at the moment he turned away.
By Rebekah Conard2 years ago in Fiction
