Historical
Hating Christmas
HATING CHRISTMAS? CHAPTER 1 The house was bland. There were no popcorn strings, trees nor stockings. There was no smell coming from a gingerbread house as though there was in fact none in the neighborhood. No carols to sing, no trees to decorate and no family to spend time with.
By Very Sweet Romance 4 years ago in Fiction
Entries From Douglas A. Lawson's Private Journal
Preface In 1971, Douglas A. Lawson - paleontologist and at the time a graduate student at UT Austin - made a discovery that would revolutionize our understanding of the evolution of flight. The following excerpts from his private journal have survived time and oblivion, and are revealed to the public for the very first time.
By Claire Guérin4 years ago in Fiction
Silver Line of Power
A fiery rain poured over my head at sunrise as the field artillery fired from the other side, sending their led balls hurdling towards us. All I wanted was to get out alive. This dreadful war was the worst thing I had gone through. It was worse than when three of my cousins died the same day of cholera. If only the South would just surrender. They were on the path to defeat, why delay the inevitable and cause more death. They called what we were doing ‘Northern aggression,’ but I had called what they were doing land theft. Jefferson Davis was the one who wanted to break off from the union, but maybe Lincoln could make a few concessions, give the South some of their own land in exchange for every slave and draftee on their side being freed. I had no preference as to which side won, I just hated fighting. I was no cowardly deserter though. I had fought gallantly with my honor and integrity intact.
By Alex H Mittelman 4 years ago in Fiction
Anderson's Prize
Winston lay weeping like so many times before. The toddler loved the woods so much his passion got ahead of him: he was alone. He looked this way and that - craving the sight of the mother he just left, and wept face down in the leaves. In the never-ending forest, nothing else mattered but mommy. Not the sunlight beaming upon his face, not the perfect October afternoon, not even the brilliant color fall held around the curled little boy. He shook, a helpless baby sobbing in a wild, foreign world. Yet, the pitiful sound was carried by the breeze, and heard by the most unlikely creature imaginable.
By Aaron Michael Grant4 years ago in Fiction
Ammit
"What has become of Amun's fruitful land?" A soul-weary Ammit thought as she breached the top of the cliff and swooped down into the blood-stained valley. Ammit's heart wept at the horror before her. A once beautifully carpeted glen full of swaying blue-green grass, bright red poppies, and a cacophony of wildflowers. Was now riddled with mangled, disfigured bodies as far as the eye could see. Swallowing the lump of grief that arose at the view, Ammit scanned the scene for any signs of life.
By Maize Scott4 years ago in Fiction
I Am The Feathered Serpent. Top Story - December 2022.
Ô Quetzalcoatl, Precious Serpent, Wisest of Men and Second Sun, please heal my daughter, though she has been cursed. Tlamacazqui says the White Teotls have hexed her with disease brought with the morning from across the vast ocean, and only you can save her, he says. Ô Quetzalcoatl, Precious Serpent, Creator of Worlds, God of the Winds and Mover of Cycles, please accept this offering and in return, heal my daughter as I send her to you.
By Claire Guérin4 years ago in Fiction
Kindrazl: The Highborn Chronicles - Season 1: Solace - Episode 1: Anima (Part 1)
anima (n.) – The base mentality of mind, defined as the overlap of four distinct animentals: persona, or how one identifies; thought, or what one thinks; emotion, or how one feels; and resolve, or what one does.
By Orion J. Zed4 years ago in Fiction
Exchange of Iron and Bee
There’s a vaguely plane-shaped hole in the ceiling of the forest, letting in the only large spanse of light in the otherwise gloomy and overgrown forest. A forest that doesn’t see much of human-like beings, only beasts of instinct and shadows of creatures. The air in this forest is humid and sticky, so dense that the trees and their creeping fingers, the lush blankets of moss, even the chaotic mess of downed trees and their magnificent corpses, seem to be the intense overgrowth of millenia.
By Noel Mallory4 years ago in Fiction
A Call To Action
The much expected Super Tucano jets finally arrived in July. They were in the public eye. The first batch of six came weeks earlier. By this time all twelve had been received by the Nigerian Air Force. The game changer was here, so they said. The President and his media handlers had much talked about these jets and promised that their arrival was going to be the harbinger of the end of banditry in the country. Now the people were elated. It was music to their ears. They couldn’t wait to see a new day. Like Diana Ross who didn’t care if her man was young or old, as long as he had muscles, the people were not asking for much on banditry; they just wanted to see the jets exercise their muscles and have a show-down with bandits and terrorists. It didn’t bother them that the government spent money like water in the purchase of those jets. Whether or not the President would have the political will to bomb the forests was the 64 million dollar question.
By Chris Aragon4 years ago in Fiction
