Love
Pyro's Spell, Friday, May 18th, 2007
“Here you are ladies, early as usual.” Anton informed his six gorgeous passengers. “Same time again tonight?” Anton had landed one hell of a gig this time. All he had to do was pick up six exotic dancers at the same place and time, then drive them 20 minutes down the road. Each girl gave him $20 to drop them off, and another $20 when he picked them back up.
By Anton Mathias Heft 8 months ago in Fiction
Almost
Jazna tells Isaac she’s leaving on a Tuesday morning, while the kitchen is still dim and soft with early light. She waits until the kettle finishes boiling, because she doesn’t want her voice to compete with the noise. Or maybe because she needs those last few seconds to steady herself. “I’m going today,” she says.
By Sara Wilson8 months ago in Fiction
Mrs Lydia Osgood’s “Practical Advice for my Daughter”, Chapter 2, How to grow a Spring Garden.
There are times in one’s life when one feels frightfully unhappy and all seems rather dreary. Forewarned is forearmed however, and one must lay the ground for recovering one’s joie de vivre as soon as such a circumstance might be anticipated. Bleak midwinter is such an occasion, and after dark months, nothing is more pleasing to a soul than watching the nodding heads of narcissi on a bright spring day. A spring garden heralds the renewal of light and the coming of summer’s abundance, whatever has been lost to the winter.
By Hannah Moore8 months ago in Fiction
The Blueprint
Coffee tastes different when you’re anxious. It takes on a more milky quality, perhaps due to the way your body trembles as it sloshes down your throat. Peter decided to set the coffee aside out of fear his stress would cause him to choke on the drink. He’d been waiting in the cafe for more than an hour. Him and Christie had planned to meet at three in the afternoon but he decided to get there a half hour early. He had been standing around thinking about the meeting since the second he woke up, part of him hoped it would be easier to wait here than his apartment. The suspense was made greater by her constant delays. First five minutes. Then fifteen. Then thirty. Then forty. It was mostly the fault of the public transit system she wasn’t familiar with but with each passing minute the tardiness felt more personal. She had flown in from Denver the night before, the first time he will have seen her in six years.
By Ben Langford8 months ago in Fiction
The Dead Princess's Mercy. AI-Generated.
General Wei stared at the pool of black water beneath his feet. In its reflection, he didn’t see his own battle scared face, but the faces of the three thousand men he had burned alive at the Siege of Yan. Their skin was translucent and their mouths were stitched shut with what looked like rusted wire.
By Carolyn Patton8 months ago in Fiction
The Last Message I Never Sen
I typed the message three times before deleting it for good. Each version sounded wrong in a different way. Too dramatic. Too casual. Too late. I stared at the blinking cursor like it was waiting for me to say something brave, but all I could offer was silence.
By Salman Writes8 months ago in Fiction
