Short Story
The Solstice in Bad Gumption. Top Story - July 2024.
‘How do we go about it?’ The group of three men and one boy shifted from foot to foot around a bonfire spluttering sparks in the bone chilling drizzle, a few hefty stones sitting amid the flames. They were thinking about all the time it took to get it going in this weather. Someone sniffed, someone coughed. They all felt cold and uneasy standing at the edge of the fields sprawling in front of them in the dusk, with their backs to the dripping birches surrounding the cemetery.
By K.D. Popiel2 years ago in Fiction
A Swampscott Summer Solstice
In a town just north of Salem, Massachusetts there is a beautiful seaside town called Swampscott, Massachusetts with only about 14,000 people living there. It rests along the coast of the Atlantic Ocean and almost everyone there makes their living off fishing, selling, or cooking fish. However, there was a time long ago when this town belonged only to the Native tribes that founded it. The tribe's names were Naumkeag, Pennacook, and Pawtucket. Most people living in Swampscott in 2024 have long since forgotten where their heritage comes from and who was on that land first. However, there is a small group of women who have not forgotten. There are certain times throughout the year they will gather together on the shores of King's Beach to perform their ancestor's rituals. On the day of the Summer Solstice, four women gather as the sun sets and reach a secluded part of the beach. They gather some dry oak branches and build a bonfire. These women are in their late 40's to early 50's and they have heard the tales of their Native American heritage from their grandparents and parents who heard it from theirs and so on and so on. They have been taught to respect their heritage and keep its rituals and so, that is why they have gathered here. Their names are Enola, Dolli, Wanyecha, and Dakota. They have gathered here on several occasions before tonight. They have done this since they were little girls. However, tonight would be much different than ever before, and as Dolli stokes the fire, Wanyecha goes to gather more dry oak to keep the fire going for a few hours. Enola has gotten out her sage and has started to cleanse the area and Dakota or Kota for short has started dancing around the fire. Enola just smiles at her and says, "Kota, will you ever grow up?" Kota, always the tomboy and the wild child answers back, "Now, what would be the fun in that?" Enola rolls her eyes and continues sageing. Dolli smiles and joins her best friend, her sister with her dance. After a short time, Wanyecha comes back, places the wood next to the fire, and sits down. At that, Kota and Dolli stop dancing and sit down as well for they know it is time to start the ritual. Enola in her motherly voice clears her throat and says, "Ladies, we begin." The sisters all join hands and start to chant. After a few minutes, when all seems still and all you can hear is the ocean lapping against the shore and the women chanting Enola speaks out and says, "Ancestors, the world is so different now but we intend to honor you and keep your memory alive. Thank you and the gods above for another Summer Solstice." Next, Enola takes the clay mixture and lines her face with it to prepare for the Summer Solstice dance. Next in the circle to speak is Wanyecha who has seemed rather deep in thought all night. As she begins to speak, the fire seems to glow brighter. She says, "God of Fire we hope this offering brings you power and pleases you. I am angered by what I see today and how this town has forgotten where it came from, I urge you to remind them." The sisters suddenly all feel tense and uneasy but no one breaks the circle and no one lets go of the other hand. Wanyecha takes the clay mixture, marks her face, and continues to hold her sister's hands. Dolli speaks up next, "Fire god and Mother Nature who gives us our seasons and this Summer Solstice hear our cry! We thank you, we worship you and we wish all could see your power!" The light from the fire is now shining immensely bright and seems to glow all around them as if it is lighting up the entire beach. No one else is around and as Dolli takes her turn with the clay mixture she wonders what will happen next. But, she has no time to think as she returns hands with her sisters Dakota speaks up taking her turn last. "This city has forgotten its past and wants to cover it up, forget it, or pretend it didn't exist. But we know and we remember. We will always remember. Help us great Spirit, help them remember." As Kota placed her hands in the bowl and started to place her face paint on her the fire whose glow had seemed to spread to all corners of the beach suddenly seemed to suck itself back inward and went back to a regular bonfire. Suddenly, Wanyecha produces a cloth sack and tosses it into the fire. The fire whooshes upward and outward into the woods and toward the town behind them. The sisters all look at Wanyecha and say simultaneously, "What was in that sack?!" She doesn't have a chance to answer however because suddenly there are voices all around them but none of them in English. The sisters all look at each other wide-eyed for they know this language but have not heard it for many, many years. It is the language of their ancestors, Wampanoag. They listen as they sway and suddenly it is Kota who speaks first as she says, "They say, they shall pay with blood." The sisters look once again at Wanyecha. It is Enola who speaks first this time. "Wanyecha, what was in that sack?" She responds, "Just some old bones, some of my blood and dust from my ancestors." Enola looks at her gravely as she says, "Well, I hope you're prepared for what you have just woken up." Suddenly, the winds pick up and blow out the fire, the voices increase and cries are heard from the town. Enola says, "Oh, we've done it now. Get in your cars. Let's go!"
By Lindsey Altom2 years ago in Fiction
The Harvest. Top Story - July 2024.
Koyi wobbled to her shabby wood and straw kaz, holding her machete and an old burlap bag with some yams. Someone had laid another basket in front of the patched up door—rose apples today. They were a bright reddish pink, looking waxy and crisp, just the way she liked them. The culprit knew her very well. Those would be crunchy, juicy and sweet—she could tell—but she gathered all the will she could muster and pushed the basket aside to enter her home. She had already said no repeatedly and would not be taking bribes.
By Lily Séjor2 years ago in Fiction
They Will Dream Again
Sweet grapes burst under teeth, filling children's mouths with a taste better than candy. Watermelon juice dripped down their chins while their fingers were still sticky from picking apart fresh figs. They sat on the soft grass, feeling a light wind graze against their hair and clothes, waiting for the adults to light the pyre.
By K. Kocheryan2 years ago in Fiction
I have a photoshoot tomorrow. Can you recommend me some colors and outfit options that will look good on camera?
Colors: Solid Colors: Opt for solid colors instead of busy patterns. They help keep the focus on you. Bold, Vibrant Colors: Colors like royal blue, emerald green, and rich reds photograph well.
By ODS ACADEMY2 years ago in Fiction
Love Across the Miles
Haruna Itsuki, tenderly called Itsuki by her loved ones, was an energetic young lady intensely for workmanship. She resided in the clamoring city of Tokyo, where she went through her days drawing in curious bistros and visiting craftsmanship exhibitions. Her life was loaded with variety and innovativeness, yet there was one tone missing from her range — a shade of adoration that she longed for profoundly. Yamada Gojo, or Gojo as everybody called him, was a similarly enthusiastic young fellow living in Osaka. Gojo was a performer, going through his days creating tunes that caught the embodiment of his heart. His life, as well, was lively, loaded up with notes and rhythms, however he felt a waiting vacancy that no one but love could fill. Their ways crossed fortunately throughout a mid year workmanship and live performance in Kyoto. Itsuki had a slow down displaying her craftsmanship, and Gojo was performing in front of an audience. Drawn by his deep music, Itsuki ended up remaining among the group, entranced. After his presentation, she moved toward him to communicate her reverence for his ability. That second denoted the start of their romantic tale. Their association was moment and significant. They spent the remainder of the celebration together, investigating the city, sharing their fantasies, and chuckling like they had known one another for quite a long time. It was a mystical time, and the two of them realize that they had tracked down something uniquely great. Nonetheless, as the celebration reached a conclusion, reality set in. Itsuki needed to get back to Tokyo, and Gojo to Osaka. The possibility of being separated weighed vigorously on them, however they made a guarantee to one another: they would make their far-removed relationship work, regardless of the difficulties. In the months that followed, their affection bloomed through late-night video calls, genuine letters, and shock visits. They tracked down inventive ways of remaining associated notwithstanding the miles between them. Itsuki would send Gojo representations of her most recent craftsmanship, while Gojo would form melodies roused by their adoration and send her accounts. Their bond developed further as time passes. Yet, far-removed relationships are rarely simple. There were times when the distance felt unendurable, and the yearning to together appeared overpower. The bitterness and dejection would sneak in, creating shaded areas over their souls. There were minutes when they addressed if their adoration would endure everyday hardship and distance. One winter night, as the virus wind cried outside, Itsuki sat by her window, destroys streaming her face. She missed Gojo appallingly. The recollections of their time together felt like a fantasy she was unable to clutch. She contemplated whether giving up and save themselves the heartache would be more straightforward. In the mean time, in Osaka, Gojo was feeling a similar depression. He sat at his piano, unfit to track down the motivation to play. The distance was negatively affecting him, and he missed Itsuki's presence beyond what words could communicate. He addressed on the off chance that their affection was sufficiently able to overcome any barrier between them. At that time of shared trouble, a choice was made. Itsuki booked a pass, not set in stone to see Gojo and revive their affection. She gathered her sacks and left the following morning, her heart beating with expectation and trust. At the point when Itsuki showed up in Osaka, she went directly to Gojo's condo. Her heart hustled as she thumped on the entryway. At the point when Gojo opened it and saw her remaining there, his eyes extended in dismay. Without a word, he maneuvered her into his arms, holding her firmly as though he never needed to give up. Bittersweet tears bliss and alleviation streamed uninhibitedly as they held one another. At that time, all the bitterness and uncertainty softened away. They realize that their adoration merited battling for, regardless of the distance. They spent the following couple of days together, gaining new experiences and esteeming each second. As their opportunity together arrived to an end, they made a settlement. They would make progress toward a future where they could be together for all time. Itsuki started searching for open positions in Osaka, and Gojo investigated ways of growing his music vocation to Tokyo. They vowed to visit each other more regularly and to never fail to focus on their adoration. Months transformed into years, and their adoration just developed further. They confronted difficulties and difficulties, however they generally found their direction back to one another. Their romantic tale was a demonstration of the force of steadiness and the excellence of genuine romance. At last, the day came when Itsuki got a proposition for employment in Osaka. With a heart exuberant, she stuffed her effects and moved to the city where Gojo resided. They found a comfortable loft together, and their significant distance romantic tale changed into a delightful life shared one next to the other. Itsuki and Gojo's adoration had endured the hardships of distance and uncertainty, arising more grounded and stronger. Their story was an update that genuine romance knows no limits and that with confidence and assurance, the sky is the limit. As they sat on their overhang one night, watching the dusk paint the sky in shades of pink and orange, Itsuki rested on Gojo's shoulder and murmured, "We made it." Gojo grinned, kissing her brow delicately. "Indeed, we did," he answered. "What's more, this is only the start of our for eternity."
By Dreamscape 2 years ago in Fiction
**The Reviled Write**
Clara Morrison was an essayist, devoured by a frantic longing to see her title in print. Each day she works absent at her portable workstation in her little, cluttered loft, creating stories that appear to shrivel beneath the basic eyes of distributors. Dismissal letters heaped up, each one a sharp sting to her waning trust.
By Abdul Qayyum2 years ago in Fiction
