Short Story
Salt and Scum, Honor and Loyalty
Lao-Chen hated nights like this. Captain Shang ordered him to keep watch when he couldn’t sleep. Whether or not the task was supposed to help the boy was anyone’s guess. The choppy ocean waves slapped the ship relentlessly, so up in the crow’s nest, he felt like a hammer swinging wildly at a nail.
By Zolund Lee3 years ago in Fiction
The Last Witch Hunt
The Last Witch Hunt This small world was his plaything. With outstretched fingers, he picked at oceans and continents like a child pointing at an insect. People and places flashed before his eyes. He dismissed them, flicking from one person to the next.
By Michael Ward3 years ago in Fiction
Succession
Milo Hobbes hated hospitals. The cream-spackled hallways emanated filth, hoards of germs and bacteria tainted what was once white. Tungsten lights flickering faster than the eye can see served to disorient visitors of the ward. Dull headaches plagued guests, paling in comparison to the ails of those they came to visit. Each floor built like hotel rooms for the dying, half drunk on pain medications and slurring or crying or screaming until their lungs gave out. And yet, far worse than the pallor and distant sounds of soon-to-be corpses was the smell. A septic odor of shit and bleach that permeated from floor to ceiling with the faintest tinge of wet mold growing between skin folds of overweight patients and their dirty laundries. The smell hung stiff without central air, a convenience ill-fitted for a hospital full of contagion.
By C.C. Moyer-Gardner3 years ago in Fiction
Gandhi Lied to Me
I’m grateful for Facebook. That’s not a popular sentiment nowadays, not since we’ve all awakened to the fact that it’s nothing but a soulless corporate entity whose algorithm of artificial rage may have been instrumental in the insurrection at the Capitol. I’m not grateful for its data mining skills or its propagation of click-bait links. I’m not grateful for the pictures of people’s food or their political opinions. But I am grateful that it has allowed me to reunite with people who otherwise would have faded into oblivion.
By Andy Waddell3 years ago in Fiction
The Miraculous Journey of the Painted Rock
Once upon a time in a small village nestled amidst rolling green hills, there lived a young girl named Lily. She was known for her kindness, warm heart, and insatiable curiosity. One day, while exploring the nearby forest, Lily stumbled upon a peculiar rock that was strikingly different from the others she had seen before. Its surface had intricate patterns, as if it were painted by a skilled artist.
By Isaac Conto3 years ago in Fiction
The' hope
In the quiet town of Everlight, nestled between rolling hills and fields of wildflowers, there was a phenomenon that captivated the hearts of its inhabitants. A centuries-old legend spoke of a hidden source of endless hope, a wellspring that could be found by those whose spirits were pure and intentions true.
By QuietRiddle Arthi3 years ago in Fiction
The Plan
It was usual to see a red park bench. Much less under some trees next to a stream. But there it was. The park appeared deserted. This was where they said to meet. I pulled the note from my pocket and glanced at it again, then shoved it back in my pocket.
By Kenneth Lawson3 years ago in Fiction
Eliza and The Enchanted Woods
A young girl named Eliza used to reside in a quiet village set among the rolling hills. Eliza was a bright and curious child who enjoyed exploring the forests that surrounded her home. She would spend hours walking through the tall trees and gurgling brooks, letting her mind run wild as she found the wonders of nature.
By Babangida Bello Dawuda3 years ago in Fiction
