Fantasy
Lapis in Aeternum
There is only one truth in the universe and that is that man is doomed to die from the moment he takes his first breath. The march of time never slows down for anyone, it's prison enveloping all souls who come to the isolated island in space known as Earth, each person and creature doomed to the cycles of joys and suffering they had experienced before in a never-ending cycle that would last all eternity. As the stars lined themselves up in a dance of cosmic proportions a heavenly figure came forth from the shadows sending down a rain of crystals upon the blue orb's surface to help perhaps a few escape this physical reality prison. The heavenly figure had an owl-like appearance as well as a regal aura about him. He wore a golden bejeweled crown symbolizing his power and status as a prince. His white feathers rustled only ever so slightly. He peered down with piercing onyx eyes and then left having good faith that the crystals would find their way to the right owners.
By Eris Willow3 years ago in Fiction
Slayer
I have done this before. My body, no longer young but not yet old, is a map of scarred lines telling the many tales of my gruesome adventures. Adventures that have inspired songs, made grown men shudder and maidens weep. The heat, the pregnant silence, the waiting. The calm before the inevitable eruption of violence. This is nothing new. I have done this before.
By Cayla Stone3 years ago in Fiction
Luna's Moon Adventure
I wrote a story for my son that I wanted to read to him during the night. This is an English translation of the story. Would this work as an evening story before bedtime? He likes bunnies and Star Wars, so wanted to combine these elements to create a story, I hope you like it.
By Mattias Landegren Örtlund3 years ago in Fiction
Rox Vs. Rotto
Rox Kasker circled his wounded prey with murderous intent. He spun his large, double-edged ax in his leathery hands while he studied his victim, deciphering the best, and most satisfying way to kill it. The rain had ceased its downpour and the jackals had fled the area after Rox’s men had killed six of them. The forest was dead quiet, so quiet that Rox could actually hear the heartbeat of his prey, pounding inside of his enormous chest. The Gungan had ordered Pyrus to venture deeper into the woods, to make sure the jackals were not preparing for a surprise attack, but that had been over an hour ago, and he had not yet returned. Rox could only assume that his comrade had perished, or found himself lost. IG-96 was slowly casing their perimeter, scanning for heat signatures.
By Kale Sinclair3 years ago in Fiction
Forever Grey
The subway rattles as it twists through New York’s underground. I stand alone, my hand perched on the overhead pole like a bird of prey. My eyes scan the subway car, dancing from one pair of eyes to the next. All around me, strangers do the same, searching for a glimpse of color.
By Devin Downing3 years ago in Fiction
The Other Side of the Solar System
I woke groggy and confused, momentarily forgetting where I was. The couch. Rubbing the bleariness from my eyes, I rose and stretched. Outside the wall sized window of my living room, the speckled lights of the vast metropolis painted me in their starlit glow. It was still dark, the never sleeping cityscape of Galactic Center bathed my living room in a calm indigo ambience.
By Dakota Rice3 years ago in Fiction
Whispers of Imagination
Chapter 1: Unearth Your Narrative Magic Once upon a starlit eve, a curious soul named Ember stumbled upon the "Imagination Codex." Its pages whispered secrets, and Ember, craving the extraordinary, opened the book. Thus began a quest guided by the Whimsical Sage, unraveling the magic of narrative purpose. Through riddles, moonlit exercises, and encounters with characters whose stories pulsed with purpose, Ember discovered that a narrative without purpose was like a wand without a spell—a missed opportunity for magic.
By Thiago Assis3 years ago in Fiction
Enchanted Realms
Chapter 1: Unearth Your Creative Essence In the enchanted village of Quillington, a budding storyteller named Luna discovers an ancient manuscript, "The Book of Imagination." Guided by the whimsical Sage of Creativity, Luna sets forth on a journey to unearth the essence of her creative magic. Through whimsical riddles and encounters with mythical creatures, Luna unravels the tapestry of her narrative purpose, realizing that stories are spells waiting to be cast.
By Thiago Assis3 years ago in Fiction
An Unsentimental Christmas Celebration
In a world steeped in the sentimental glow of twinkling lights, warm embraces, and the ever-present jingle of holiday tunes, there exists a space for those who dare to celebrate Christmas with a touch of realism—an Unsentimental Christmas Celebration. Amid the festive frenzy, where sentimentality often reigns supreme, this alternative approach beckons with a promise of simplicity, practicality, and an unfiltered view of the holiday season.
By Ali Raza (Story Bard)3 years ago in Fiction
Mr. Sandman
- Damn, it's been a long night. Mr. Sandman laid back within his own shadow and sighed. Every dreamer needs a reminder that he has visited; he did feel his delicate touch was underestimated by some of the deeper dreamers. Each night he placed a bit of small, yellowish grain in the inner corners of well closed eyes. He always stood back and had a good look before moving on to the next sleeper. Over the years he had split up the planet with some, let's just say, sand workers, to be sure everyone was covered. The art of placing sand near a human's eye was not easily learned yet although immortal he actually grew tired of doing the work solo. There was one thing weighing quite heavily upon this legend. Mr. Sandman never had the time for romance, dancing, or any thrill seeking and he began to find his work dull. The world had depended on him for far too long and not with one thank you, just moaning complaints he overheard. Mothers told children to wash the sand out of their eyes before school and in old folks homes nursing aides carefully wiped their patients eyes with moist clothes to freshen them up. What was the point? Mr. Sandman was long, lean and his skin was burnt sienna, like the infamous Crayola crayon. He had seen all the world's deserts from the Sahara to the Patagonian, he had even attended "Burning Man" twice. Funny thing is, no one truly believed him when they asked who he was and what he did and all. Immortality sounds quite intriguing to the fragile, human mind but Mr. Sandman swears it's a curse. No one put sand in his eyes, checked on him to see if he was feeling alright and other than with his understudies, he didn't have anyone to communicate with. One dusky evening, just around Christmas he had what one might call an epiphany. A muse fell into his hands and he felt driven, almost manically so, to become more decorative when leaving his trademark; perhaps then he would at least hear some praise or be the recipient of a much longed for cognisant recognition that would lend some status to his trade. Thus the tale of Mr. Sandman's artistic endeavours begins.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)3 years ago in Fiction
