Fantasy
A Cold Wind
Late at night, she sleeps curled by the fireplace with her wings folded tight along her back. She won’t sleep in the bed with me, afterward. She’ll rise and stretch, and settle on the woven hearthrug like a dog, with the firelight washing red and gold over her skin.
By Jean McKinney3 years ago in Fiction
Berganashio - Chapter 4
In a very different part of the land, far from where the fairies, totters, fireflies, and hummingbirds lived, there lived a mob of meerbirds. The meerbirds were similar to meerkats, which are found in other worlds. However, they possessed beautiful, white wings. A mob of meerbirds sat in a circle around the campfire somberly. The firelight flickered on their black, beady, calm eyes. Their wings were all tucked carefully behind them out of reverence. Even the youngest of the meerbirds sat with their parents, both unusually quiet, and attentive. Keenwai stood up, while clearing his throat. His muscles felt a bit tense, but it was because he didn’t like speaking in front of crowds. He began to speak what he had been rehearsing in his mind all day since they had buried his sickly father that morning.
By Rowan Finley 3 years ago in Fiction
The Enchanted Atlas
Once upon a time in the small town of Eldoria, there lived a curious young girl named Aria. Aria had always been fascinated by maps and had an uncanny ability to navigate through the densest forests and the trickiest mazes. However, her most prized possession was an old, dusty atlas that she had inherited from her grandmother.
By Tri Ferianto Hersusoko3 years ago in Fiction
Dim light
The city of dim light, the gate of time, Magic, Dragon, prophecy, adventure, courage, friendship, love, sacrifice, faith, hope.In a quiet village called "Eye of the sun" surrounded by majestic mountains, there lived an intelligent and curious girl named "Leila". Leila was famous for her love of exploring and wandering in the forest next to the village, where she would spend many hours looking for new adventures.
By Samir hosny3 years ago in Fiction
One Writer
One Writer A writer sits in front of an antique typewriter, ready to pour his thoughts onto paper: "Writing was my lifeline, the very thing that saved me from the depths of despair. Yet, I didn't write about trivial matters or indulge in the ridiculousness of love letters penned for unrequited affections. Words became my refuge, a sanctuary from the pain and anguish that plagued my existence. As a shy teenager with seemingly no prospects in life, I became a dreamer. A dreamer who would weep and beseech the moon to deliver the essence of my words, so I could tend to them with greater care. These words I wrote became my only flame, providing warmth in the face of the world's coldness. They acted as a protective shield against the venomous words of the women on the bus, who sought to pry into my life and label me as insignificant. Their hurtful remarks echoed sentiments that had only been expressed by one person before. And so, I transformed these women into the greatest villains within my poems and short stories, finding joy in their demise and giving my life a satisfying conclusion. In reality, I severed ties with my predetermined destiny, leaving those women on the bus to spew venom amongst themselves while I forged my own path. All of this and more, being a dreamer and a writer, was akin to granting wings to a condor, allowing it to soar far above the vultures. I discovered that I held control over my own destiny if I fought tirelessly, never relinquishing my beliefs. Compiling all my words and crafting a book in 2019 also played a crucial role in my salvation. The dream I aspired to was grander than ever, and the pursuit of that dream continues to this day. The struggle is ongoing, a constant reminder of my unwavering commitment to what I have written and the incomplete work that lies before me. I realized that if I am willing to fight until the end, without surrendering my beliefs, I hold the power to shape my own destiny. Piecing together the words and birthing a book in 2019 was a salvation in itself. The dream, however, reaches far beyond that milestone. The fight for my dream is far from over, and I embrace the perpetual struggle as a testament of my love for what I have written and the work that remains unfinished. If you have experienced the same, then you know that words hold the power to heal. They possess the cure within their very essence. So, cry, smile, and fight. Be the architect of your own world, one that brings harmony to our own. Write the words that can save you from a fate you do not desire. Sketch the destination you wish to reach. Have you felt the same? If so, then embrace the power of words as your remedy. The cure lies within the act of writing." As the typewriter emits its final sound, the writer removes the sheet, crumples it, and tosses it into the trash can. Frustration seeps in. "This is what the world does to all writers," the writer laments. "Come to me now with your hollow flattery, and I will discard it just as I did this crumpled page. How cruel you are." The writer closes the typewriter, placing it within a box of memories, and steps out onto the balcony to savor the last sips of his mint tea, seeking solace in the tranquility of the moment.
By Antonio Madrugada3 years ago in Fiction
Enchanted
**Episode 2: Threads of Fate** The caverns of Lumina trembled, responding to the guardian's cryptic warning. Seraphina and Ealdred stood frozen before the colossal serpent, uncertainty clouding their expressions. The guardian's eyes bore into them, as if unraveling the threads of their destinies.
By joseph woko3 years ago in Fiction
