Series
Sean
The year 1989 Sean woke up from the cold. Nasty dampness crept through the thin shabby blanket, clung to the body under the clothes, and wrapped the cold skin. Sean tensed, trying to run the blood through his veins and warm up a little, although he knew it was useless. Falling asleep, he did not feel the constant permafrost in the apartment, his body simply turned off, but in the morning everything was repeated with sickening precision. Cold, dampness, and the monotonous sound of dripping water.
This must be some joke
Lazy girl sits in filth of her own making at a desk. She is unkept, obviously exhausted and looks like she’s done with life.
Janice DailyPublished 2 years ago in FictionBard: Chapter 26
We’re family, Laura had said. There was a part of Trista that was so happy she could sing, and another that felt she had participated in some horrible deception.
Save One
Narissa tried to appear calm for Eshi’s sake. She held her hands in her lap and forced herself to sit, even though she would rather have been up and pacing. Eshi, for her part, kept looking at the door worriedly.
Kristen SladePublished 2 years ago in FictionProfit and Value
There was a time when having no other means of earning a living I took a job delivering newspapers to people who lived far from any town or city. I would go into the city very early each morning to a warehouse to pick up stacks of newspapers before setting out to drive a hundred miles of obscure back roads while throwing papers from the window of my car at the appointed places.
Dan GloverPublished 2 years ago in FictionOverwhelmed
We lived on the reservation. There wasn’t much else to do so we drank. I like to think it was love that brought us together. Still, when feelings of remorse engulf me during the dark March nights I know it was the drinking that pulled us apart.
Dan GloverPublished 2 years ago in FictionCall of the Crow CH3&4
CH3: Cartea Mortii Snow drifts gently from the sky, blanketing the high peaks of Wildes Meer in a serene silence. Ice and slush settle on sheer cliffs; everywhere except for the exposed and worn tiles of Domus Magorum.
Bottled-to explore
Level3 exploration Presently, on to another circle jumped I, to reach a place with castles and dungeons, fortresses and war, green forest and farm, far and far. I could hear every inch of it, you heard right - hear is what I did. Loud was the din that drowned off a telescopic vision now pronounced! Yes, hear I could, along with see.
Lini FernandezPublished 2 years ago in FictionThe Next Death; Chapter 12
"That doesn't look like much fun," a voice says. I look up to find Samsama'il walking towards me. My eyes flick towards Mr. Mors's office. "Just me. Neal's still busy." Samsama'il stops in front of me, leaning against the counter. He studies my textbook, eyes narrowing. His eyes come up to mine. "That looks like math. And not the easy kind."
Katarzyna CrevanPublished 2 years ago in FictionStrength
People look down on me and pretend that I don’t know that they do it. I can never talk to them, not really. I can never say anything to them about things of importance, things like the nature of good and evil, how these things we take for granted are merely imposters for the reality we can never know. If I make an attempt to tell anyone these things a look of befuddlement crosses their face.
Dan GloverPublished 2 years ago in FictionWar of Rage Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10 James was staring at Kawa for a while. It was making the Earthling samurai more uncomfortable every second. “What?” Kawa asked out of annoyance.
Nathaly ForneyPublished 2 years ago in FictionEmpire of Dirt: Chapter 1
Tikirarjuaq (Whale Cove), Nunavut, Canada 1613 To Henry James Watford of Bexfield, County Norfolk, please deliver. My loving Father and Mother, I pray and trust in God that this finds you in good health, and to my faithful wife the same. I humbly thank you for the provisions and letter, both received with gratitude. We have adequate stores of fish, though the skins are not as plentiful as promised and shoe leather is at a premium. I am writing from a strange land with little else to report than the search for a Northwest Passage continues. As time goes so too does morale, but I refrain from any sorrow or regret as thanks be to God I am in fine health. It does no good to associate with the catastrophist who hath lost his faith. There are many without faith here. Dealings with Indians have proven they are, to a man, strong and clever, Godless though they are. Their customs and station are nomadic, understandable to a point as we too seek more hospitable climes.
Ryan SmithPublished 2 years ago in Fiction