Love
The murmuring Woods
In the core of the Murmuring Forest, where the trees mumbled mysteries to the breeze and shadows moved underneath the twilight, there carried on with a little kid named Elara. She was a vagrant, taken in by the old botanist, Madame Elinore, who stayed in a cabin at the edge of the forest.
By Ajeniya stephen2 years ago in Fiction
Heart and Bone. Second Place in Whispering Woods Challenge. Top Story - April 2024.
Worst. Birthday. Ever. Thirteen was supposed to be exciting. A time of beginnings, endings. A rite of passage, a door to individuality and maturity. She was supposed to be surrounded by friends and family, not alone in the mud on the forest floor. Well, she was not entirely alone; there was the voice. That almost made it worse.
By Scott C Lillard2 years ago in Fiction
WAKING UP
WAKING UP … to what … ^^^^^^^^^^^ It was still fairly dark when her eyes opened. She listened and heard nothing. Instinctively, her arm reached to the other side of the bed. Cold. Cold and empty. Just like yesterday. And the day before. And how many days before that, she wondered. She stopped counting the days. Amelia wondered if she’d ever get used to sleeping alone, eating alone – just being alone.
By Margaret Brennan2 years ago in Fiction
The Ancients Know Secrets. Content Warning.
It started as a mere game of hide and seek in the Whispering Woods of our childhood. Not paying attention to the noises, as we were by then fully accustomed to the woods, we kept on playing and counting, giggling and hiding.
By Gabriela Trofin-Tatár2 years ago in Fiction
Sighs
She could not have been any better, more thoughtful, more helpful, prettier, smarter; she was bound in thoughts of disappointed sighs, disregarded achievements, broken in shreds of compromise, lonely in her discontent. It would never be enough, that is, to just be herself. She would not be rewarded with smiles, praise or unconditional love; she would know the bareness of love over and over again. Yet she kept wanting the comfort of the womb, the strong arms, the reassurance in their voices, the "it's okays", and the "of course you cans!"
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Fiction
Ghosted. Top Story - April 2024.
Her house was once a rustic retreat: Grammy’s ancient Afghan draped over the cracked, leather chair next to the wood burning fireplace. Sun-faded yellow gingham curtains in the kitchen danced in the afternoon breeze. She kept the windows open year-round, demanding to breathe in only fresh air. I spent many afternoons curled up with Aunt Bette, watching raunchy movies and drinking good tequila. That was her poison. She hasn’t been gone six months, but I still feel her in the weathered boards of the sagging front porch. I sit on the rough-hewn stairs, avoiding the papaya-colored porch swing. Can’t sit there. It’s not meant for one. Without a hint of a breeze, the swing slowly comes to life.
By Cathy Schieffelin2 years ago in Fiction
Family Adrift
We had a sailboat, an old Surfwind - like a Sunfish, only bigger, with blue and white sails. We didn’t sail in Cleveland but hauled that boat to Michigan every summer where we kept a cottage on Glen Lake. It was idyllic. Dad loved to sail. He’d disappear onto the water for hours. We’d go with him sometimes, but I think he preferred the solitude. It was his time to be alone and think and put the pieces of his life in perspective.
By Cathy Schieffelin2 years ago in Fiction
