Microfiction
The Magic Pen
Once upon a time there was a young author who loved to write. He was so wealthy from an inheritance that he could afford to do nothing but write. He made it a point to write every day. Write something. It became such a part of his life that he fantasized a dreadful, horror... that when his pen ran out of ink, his own blood would stop flowing.
By Gerard DiLeo3 years ago in Fiction
Duty Calls
Consciousness came crawling back from the edge of oblivion as I slowly recognized where the annoying sound was emanating from. I pushed “accept” on my phone and listened to the electronic voice coldly say, “Get up now.” 3 a.m., right on time as usual; not much chance these electronic gadgets would give a guy an extra 15 minutes. No time to lie around complaining. People were counting on me.
By Mark Gagnon3 years ago in Fiction
Misty's Nanny. Content Warning.
Misty’s new Nanny, Felicia, arrived today. She had just been introduced to her and told what was expected of her while she was here. Misty had just stood there lovely and prim, smiling and nodding her head where appropriate. Then, as if she wasn’t even in the room with them, the Nanny had turned to her parents and said that she thought the post would do nicely. Misty was then excused to return to the nursery and continue doing what she was so rudely interrupted when the Nanny arrived.
By Mother Combs (Sharon)3 years ago in Fiction
A Fitting End
The girl sat outside the coffee shop, sipping from a cup. She seemed relaxed, resting casually in her chair, leaning back, one arm laying across her stomach, the other up and holding her cup. One foot sat on the ground, its leg supporting her other leg, which was crossed over it, its own foot gently and slowly bouncing. Her eyes glazed over the morning traffic. One might take her for any other coffee drinker, enjoying a drink peacefully in the morning traffic, but on closer inspection, one would notice that the peace in her eyes was not one of calm, but resignation. Her lips were not set in neutral but had a slight hardness and downturn that matched the subtle resignation in her eyes.
By Katarzyna Crevan3 years ago in Fiction
A Stairway To Hell. Content Warning.
This is for a Vocal Social Society Challenge that you can enter here: A Stairway To Hell It has been remarked that while there is only a "Stairway To Heaven" there is a "Highway To Hell" and that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 3 years ago in Fiction
My Narnia
One day I woke up in my Narnia. I woke up and stepped into an entirely new world. One recognizable, but wholly unknown. It carries many expectations. I stumbbled into it. It happened not quite over night, but at times it felt that way. My Narnia carries no friendly wise character's, there was no Aslan to greet me. I entered at the part where Aslan had died and unfortunately Mr.Tumnus transformed and disappeared before my eyes. The dangers remained recognizable, witches existed in all colors and places trying to turn others to cold stones or arrogant endullgant feens. One had to be steadfast at all times. Dangers lurked everywhere, everything a trap, everywhere a start of a maze that could easily disorient and make one lost. The information I gained from formal education was flipped upside down. There is no place for it in my Narnia. It's here I would feel the true disappointment of loss. All the recognizable characters were gone. In my Narnia the ladder we all climb is so long it resembles Jack's Bean stock. So thin, it doesn't seem to even have room for one, yet so many of us fight to climb it, thinking it's the way out. I watch as we are plucked off while climbing, the unlucky one's having to start all over from the bottom. At first I thought my Narnia would consume and devour me, decay my soul before I inevitably disappeared. It tries. I hear Otis in my head, "Two thousand miles I roam, just to make this NOT my home". I smile to myself. I ignore the thought correcting not my home to dock my home. I repeat, "Two thousand miles I roam just to make this NOT my home." Like the mystery that brought this Narnia to me, these lyrics brought back my identity. I can roam, I can learn, I can experience a journey even if it leads me no where, even if ultimately I mess it up or others mess it up and home is lost to me. It can be partially up to me. I can make it anything through my power of perspective. Everything waits as a part of a story that has been told before or yet unwritten. I can make this not my home, refuse it while embracing the search. I can be stubborn if I choose. A brat if I wish. I can be defiant. I could even make this place my home, any place. I can be open to it. I can laugh, I can sing, I can do what the moment requires. "So I guess I'll remain the same", I sing loud....."Wastin' time" Through Otis's lyrics I was transported back. It's this ability to make the best of things that is my identity. To see things for what they are and adjust. The choices I choose are original to me and the moment. An identity forged from teachings and moments prior. Whether Susanne or the others I can survive after my Narnia, create better chapters. Sent from my Galaxy
By simplicity3 years ago in Fiction
