Historical
Blowing My Own Horn, Part One: The Troika of Osip Teitelbaum
Blowing My Own Horn, Part One: The Troika of Osip Teitelbaum “I cannot take comfort in the lie of the Germans. I was not ‘only following orders.’ I was a machine. I machine of my own making. I am the New Soviet Man. And hell is my destination.”
By Grant Patterson3 years ago in Fiction
JACK OF DIAMONDS
i Chernetsov stood on the upper floor of Marlborough Estate sipping a drink and looking down into the large foyer below. Two sets of stairs wound their way down from the balcony where a massive chandelier, hanging from a chain as thick as a man’s arm, was suspended. The chandelier was at least two hundred years old and was the first thing he’d wanted to get rid of when he bought the house. His wife, he remembered, had other ideas. He was glad she’d talked him out of replacing it. There was a large Turkey rug laying on the black and white tiled floor, with two potted urns placed under each of the winding staircases. It was a nuisance as far as he was concerned. Again, his wife had a different opinion, filling the urns with silken flowers crafted by local women.
By ben woestenburg3 years ago in Fiction
The Awakening
~ Monday, May 27, 2013 ~ Doctor Eve Davis nervously dialed the number. It was answered promptly. “She made it. She’s actually here and right on time,” Eve reported hesitantly, “I don’t know what it is about her, but you’ve got me really nervous. You’re sure she isn’t dangerous?”
By James Bell3 years ago in Fiction
Rose Court
Preface: Rosette of Alcantara, Queen of Mercia sat before her fire with tears rolling down her face. The night before her husband of 24 years and the only man she has ever loved, Edmund, told her that their marriage was over. Actually, he said that since she was previously married to his brother, James, their marriage was unlawful and therefore never was. Rosette remembered watching him leave in disbelief and collapsing on the floor. Her lady's maid, Lady Elizabeth helped the queen to her bed and sat with her until Rosette fell asleep.
By Samantha Shaffer3 years ago in Fiction
LOKI’S RUSSIA
The class arrived in Saint Petersburg on a Wednesday. Our first trip amazed me through the red walls of the Hermitage museum. The Peacock Clock’s mechanical movements mesmerized me as something I would have expected from a modern Steam-Punk Animation. In front of the Peacock Clock, the man with an eye patch first appeared. He opened the conversation by explaining the artist. He claimed James Cox’s creations during his time as a goldsmith were quite phenomenal and nothing like anything imagined today. This clock was purchased as a gift by Prince Potiomkin for Czarina Catherine. He informed just like this clock, Russia’s history hides more mysteries than any other timepiece because the writer is the Norse god, Loki.
By Hiosta Van Dillis3 years ago in Fiction
A Vampire's Life - Part 3
January 1st, 1603 His feet pounded along the cobblestones of London's streets, running at the fastest pace he could manage. Scrimshaw had sent him on an errand; a delivery of money as payment for something or other. Bastian knew not what the ancient-looking man had bought, nor did he especially care. The white-haired old bugger had not taught him a single thing in terms of combat. He had taught him useful skills – reading, writing, how to speak (in an attempt to stomp out his accent), and some arithmetic – but those were only taught to him so he could perform the basic duties with which he was entrusted.
By Bastian Falkenrath3 years ago in Fiction
Cracks
As the plane descends, the memory becomes more and more vivid. I’m reliving it, moment by moment, in unprecedented detail. It was morning, a week or two after my ninth birthday, and I was playing in the backyard when Mr Dodd, my elderly neighbor, poked his head above the fence and called me over. This wasn’t in itself memorable; I’d known Mr Dodd for as long as I could remember, and it wasn’t unusual for us to chat to each other whenever we were both outside at the same time. He’d always been a jovial man, but on this occasion his old, worn face was devoid of its usual cheerfulness. He looked anxious. It’s unnerving to a child to see an adult appear so unsure of themselves, and I approached the fence tentatively.
By Joel Pryor3 years ago in Fiction
CONTINUUM
Five years ago, on a downcast afternoon in my home town if Meridan, I felt lost. I had been searching for meaning in my life and was grasping at straws. I felt like I was falling into a deep inescapable hopelessness. My wife, Rachel, kept telling me I needed to see a psychiatrist, but I felt like the type of help I needed was far beyond external repair, after several attempts. I had been working twelve- sixteen hour days in a construction job. I felt like I was making good money when I started, but now with the kids, it feels like my Bank is just a placeholder for bills to come. I love all three of them: Ron, Mike, and Sarah; but it feels like it all happened so fast.
By Ogbeni E Ekhomu3 years ago in Fiction
For Posterity
“Breathe, Mara! It’s okay; you’re okay. Listen to my voice, sweetheart,” I heard my mom choking back tears. “Put your hand on my chest, Mara! Follow my breathing. That’s it, keep breathing, hun. Stay awake.” I could hear the panic in her voice, but I could tell she was trying to stay calm.
By Zach Maurer3 years ago in Fiction