Young Adult
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There weren't always dragons in the valley. At least that's what mom said. But as I cupped my hands in front of my eyes, I used my makeshift hand binoculars to try and see one for myself. Everyone else was terrified that the rumours were true, but I was eager to see one up close. Mom said someone probably made the whole thing up, but I knew she just hated to think that it might be true. That it wasn't just a lie told to scare, or entertain, the town kids.
By JJTHORNBOOKS4 years ago in Fiction
The 13th Scholar
There Weren't Always Dragons in the Valley... For the third time, Mr. Townsend crinkled the paper with a huff; what a headline. The rim of his glasses sat snugly upon the bridge of his nose, and yet Mr. Townsend seemed entirely annoyed; if the red-rimming around his eyelids was any sort of indicator. It was a strangely cool May, and he had tucked his sandy brown hair behind his earlobe; held back by what appeared to be a leather band, it swung in a low ponytail. Free of its binding, Joel Donovan Townsend's locks reached about his shoulders, but he rarely allowed any to see it this way. Not since she had disappeared.
By Sai Marie Johnson4 years ago in Fiction
The Eighth Trial
IN 43BH, EVERYBODY OVER THE AGE OF TEN could recall where they were and what they were doing when the world ended. For most it was sudden, over in a matter of minutes, but for others it lasted for eternity, or it seemed that way. A lone few had predicted the destruction of the ancient world long before its demise. So called cults and fortune tellers had been mocked for their asinine predictions as far back as 102BH. The earliest record of an apocalyptic prediction was found in the Old Bailey documents of 125BH from Madame Toil, an old wise woman, described with a hunched back, frazzled hair and twenty cats living in her one room caravan. She preached the word of her Lord, cautioning all that would listen of the approaching day of judgement that would see the beginning of eight deadly trials. Nobody paid her much mind, except for one lowly journalist that needed a story to fill the small three-inch gap in the next day’s newspaper. Eighty-two years later judgement day came. Little is recorded of the first trial. Survivors were in the hundreds in the less populated areas but those that did survive had little motivation to write a lasting and credible account of their ordeal. Those that did, wrote to discussion columns and trade magazines. Travis, 28, from Leicester, recorded in an engineering trade magazine ‘the earth shook, the very foundations of Earth’s crust splintered into shards of gravel and dirt. Great cities, where underground networks had destabilised the surface, were reduced to rubble. Our only salvation was the hard ground of the midland’s peninsula’. The second trial, the global pandemic, was the last of the first seven trials to be documented. Only two recorded accounts remain. A reassuring message of hope and strength from the British Prime Minister, written sloppily by a harried and under experienced journalist from the Daily Mirror, and a quickly scribbled missive from the Director of NHS England to the Prime Minister detailing the rapid spread and high death toll as of 2084 - 43BH in modern day terms. Only two weeks into the pandemic, the death toll was a catastrophic eighty-two million globally. One third of the first trail survivors perished in a week and more would follow. The third trial, known only by oral stories of survivors, was simply panic. The rapid spread of the virus and high death toll threw the globe into chaos. Governments broke down, schools closed, shops were looted and law and order was shattered. The fourth through seventh trials are little known, oral accounts of which were lost through time. The eighth trial, however, is widely documented. It is still widely written about and debated amongst professionals in the field. Classified as the most important event to have happened in the last millennium, the eighth trial holds the fascination of the modern world and the dedicated examination that comes with it. Beginning in 4BH, the eighth and final trial, the trial of war and power, finally brought about the end of the ancient world and the dawn of a new era. Accounts dating from 4BH to 1HE, the beginning of the modern world, are detailed in a way that most pre-modern documents were not. Eye witness accounts were written in remarkable detail by the founders while the tales of great tragedy and great heroics were still fresh in their minds. One such tale stuck out from the others and is widely considered the beginning of the Eighth Trial. Early in 4BH, sees the beginning of James no-surname-recorded’s journey, detailed below and written in collaboration by Obwole, Obwole, Lavische and Patrelli.
By Jade Stephens4 years ago in Fiction
Watch Your Back; Honor the Old Ways
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Some time ago they stayed hidden in the distant shadows in the dark patterns of the mountains of the Earth and while that happened humanity was allowed a brief respite; an opportunity to flourish and grow. In the early days, some people still believed in the value of magic, and there were a few shamans who would actually go forth to pay tribute to them so that they would stay at the forest edge but from time to time, as with all villages some folk; a precocious adolescent or the curious toddler, would find themselves making way into the depths of the forest to become a sacrifice that the shamans had no control over.
By Sai Marie Johnson4 years ago in Fiction
The Garrettsford Dragons
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. For years beyond counting, dragons resided on their own continent: an enormous and rocky isle to the north that people referred to as Citrine. It was so named due to the unusual shade of yellow of a dragon's eye: a yellow that could catch the light and was found nowhere else in nature apart from the citrine stone.
By Ashley Britten4 years ago in Fiction
The Pumpkin Killer
“AND THE WINNER OF THE GIANT PUMPKIN CHAMPIONSHIP ISSSS….” the emcee tantalized. “For your sake, I hope it’s not Mrs. Hart”, Leia turned to look at Renata. “I swear to God, if that hag wins again, I will –” “MRS. HART FOR HER 1,722 POUNDS PUMPKIN!” the emcee revealed. “– kill her”, finished Renata. Leia’s eye widened, “Now, now, Reny, you don’t want to do that. Why don’t you try asking what kind of fertilizer she’s been using? Renata ignored her. DON’T BE SHY NOW, MRS. HART! PLEASE COME TO THE STAGE TO COLLECT YOUR PRIZE!” the emcee searched the crowd for Mrs. Hart. A sweet old lady was walking towards the stage. She looked nothing like a hag as Renata described her. Mrs. Hart was handed a cheque prize and was invited to give a speech. She nervously glanced at all the people who were looking at her awestruck but failed to realize that a pair of eyes was shooting her looks of jealousy and hatred. “Hello, everyone! I’m so happy to have won the Giant Pumpkin Championship for the seventeenth time in a row. I’d like to thank the sun, the rain, the carbon dioxide in the air, the soil, my water sprinklers, and my fertilizer. I’m sorry, I’m not very good at speeches”, Mrs. Hart gave a sheepish smile. The crowd went crazy with applause and laughter, except for Renata. If looks could kill, Mrs. Hart would have already been dead.
By Dharrsheena Raja Segarran4 years ago in Fiction
The Girl in the Cave
Drip, drip, drip. The sound of water splashing on the cave floor echoed as Cam sketched in his pad. Deep in the damp cave, his village bustled, the lanterns in each house and along the road the only source of light. Every chance he got, Cam was at the mouth of the cave, sketching everything he saw from the smallest bug to large predators prowling by.
By Deanna Houghton4 years ago in Fiction
Silver Bloods
Note: This is chapter four of my gothic vampire romance novel! Chapter three is up in my previous post: Elvira’s Ghost. If you missed chapters one and two, plus the content warnings, visit the post titled: Death’s Clock. I also have a post containing the synopsis for this story.
By Gabriela V. Rivera4 years ago in Fiction
