Fantasy
The Next Day
Every day, it snowed. The trees were dead, their skeletal fingers reaching up from the ground in a mockery of reproach. Tempest watched the glittering flakes fall down, before the Yeti woman looked down at her baby boy. Held against the white fur of Tempest's arm, he looked as black as the night sky, with little flecks of silver dotting his coat like stars. So small and beautiful.
By Alison McBain3 years ago in Fiction
Saving Chumley
By Rick Hartford Hi. My name is Chumley. I'm a toy troll. I belong to Charlie. He’s 10. We’ve been together forever. I knew something bad was going to happen as soon as Charlie’s sister grabbed me on the way out the door as the family was getting ready to go on vacation.
By Rick Hartford3 years ago in Fiction
Herald of Winter's Chill
Eira Astair, a bard by trade, stood outside the Alabaster Arrow, pouting. Her performance had not gone as planned, but it was far from the worst she had ever given. She took solace in that, breathing deep the chill night air. Drifts of fresh-fallen snow blew gently in the light wind. Eira was at home in the icy chill of newly fallen snow. A winter spirit, the cold did not bother her like other mortals. Holding her hand to catch a few flakes, they didn’t melt. The cold was why she ventured to Illux City in the first place. It was mesmerizing this time of year, with its towers covered in glittering frost and ice. Walking with her lute in hand, she begins plucking a few strings.
By S.N. Evans3 years ago in Fiction
Ready for Winter to End
Snow and ice as far as the eye can see, patches of street indiscernible from road or yard. A thin glaze of ice, snow packed firm, conditions in which no one should venture forth. Fluffy drifts of snow danced upon the wicked wind. Severe gusts that cut like knives straight to the bone. Frost-nipped fingers and bitten toes. Noses and cheeks red from winter’s burn. Pale gray clouds blot out the sun—dull, achy fingers, joints, and feet inside, where heaters and furnaces struggle to keep pace.
By S.N. Evans3 years ago in Fiction
Tunnels
Sometimes I'd hear voices. Not in my head, or telling me to do anything. Not even talking to me. It sounded like snatches of conversation I could almost (but not quite) understand. Ordinary. Like someone asking have we any laundry soap left? or close that door, there's a draught.
By L.C. Schäfer3 years ago in Fiction
Silver Mornings. Top Story - January 2024.
Wings formed a leathery tent above her head. The combined heat of three massive bodies had melted the snow and the seat of her britches was wet. Rowyn sighed and sullenly pushed her way out from her cove of dragon breath. The world was washed anew in white. The evergreens wore a fresh dress that drifted in fluffy mounds to the ground, rich as velvet and just as soft. The morning light could not pierce the retreating storm clouds, instead diffusing into a gentle silver; so gentle that no shadows could find purchase, slipping and scattering into the gray under the trees.
By M. A. Mehan 3 years ago in Fiction
