Microfiction
The Secrets Of Imagination.
I wonder through the beautiful Common with a smile. I'm fascinated by the lush green vegetation and forest greens. I hear a "croak" from a frog who stopped by to say "hello," then jumps into a nearby pond, "CRACK!" a Squirrel jumps out of a tree to collect a fallen nut on the ground.
By Carol Townendabout a year ago in Fiction
The Grand Egress
Slurpy kisses end Saturday date nights. The clickety-clack of high heels at dawn. Banging pots and pans in the late afternoons. Running up and down the stairs purposefully finding the step with the creak. Singing off-key while watering plants. Arguments escape the walls waking crotchety neighbors. Nails wildly tapping the quartz countertop as you falter through flimsy excuses. Chester drawers slamming because you misplace my clothes again. The washing machine’s worn-out drum beating reminding me you cannot fix a damn thing. The zip, zip, zipping up my brand-new suitcase. I’m leaving you…and I’m taking the noises with me.
By Donnalisa Madrigalabout a year ago in Fiction
Heavy
It felt heavier than I remembered, weighted down by the burden of a million secrets. I brushed away the last bits of dirt and soil clinging to its rusted lid and carefully held it up to the light. Some things can be buried for a lifetime and still feel like not a single day has passed. My fingertips hovered, for just a moment, over the clasp of a diary he would wish had never been unearthed.
By Carly Marieabout a year ago in Fiction
The Other
Long ago, there was a small group of beings known today only as the Others. They intermingled with humans thousands of years ago. The Others showed exceptional prowess in technology. This frightened the humans. Soon all the humans had a reason to be afraid. The Others claimed themselves superior and took control of all humans. Most of the Other lived in a large three ring city that ran on nuclear and sonic energy. The humans soon revolted. They took control of the advanced weaponry. They directed a barrage onto the city, creating a desert and killing almost all Others.
By Nicholas La Pierreabout a year ago in Fiction
Brushstrokes of Love: A Tale of Art, Words, and Eternal Devotion
In the small coastal town of Ravenna, nestled against the backdrop of crashing waves and picturesque sunsets, two beautiful souls unknowingly began a journey that would forever intertwist their destinies.
By GOSPEL JOHNabout a year ago in Fiction
Mother Bereft
As the road stretched, making the town grow farther behind her, a twinge a regret laid in her heart. "I'm sorry Lesley." She saw a glimpse of her eye beneath her helmet in the mirror. Doing so made her tearup, as she recognized those color as his own. "Just like mine. Of course he's mine. There's no denying that."
By Thavien Yliasterabout a year ago in Fiction
Reprise
Rachael wandered gaily on the wold transparent; arms widespread; tongue out catching cool, quenching rain. Her sable braids matted, grey cloak sodden, and leather boots drenched and filled with cloud blood, and even the hem of her mazarine dress wicked dew from the moor flowers as she gambolled upon the indigo heather, yet she remained unruffled. She even smiled upon hearing heavenly percussion, or seeing white light cleave a close sky in two. For she didn’t fear lightning strikes, she welcomed them. Her singed sleeves rolled down revealing blistered, scarred tissue, as she upraised a whorled wand, daring reprise.
By Samuel Andrew Milnerabout a year ago in Fiction
Whispers
In the moonlit room, whispers lingered like delicate mist. The nursery walls whispered secrets of laughter and love, but the cradle remained silent, untouched by tiny hands. Its lullabies unheard, its gentle sway unappreciated. The dreams that once danced within the crib were hushed, buried in the depths of an unfulfilled longing. The empty cradle stood as a poignant reminder of the love that never had a chance to bloom. Only the echoes of what could have been whispered softly, trapped in the corners of the nursery, forever longing for release. Whispers: nursery echoes, silenced cradle.
By Mark Geriko Bucalingabout a year ago in Fiction