fantasy
Celebrating the fantastical. Let your imagination run wild.
How To Call Upon A Titch
“The grass is too green here I can’t stand it.” These were the last words Erin had from her parents which were written on a piece of paper. She found the note on the floor of their bedroom and held it dear ever since. The paper helped Erin remember they were real and even more so, that they’d come back for her. Her grandmother was now her caregiver never mentioning what happened to Erin’s parents. Grandma Ruthie was not the type to bring up or speak of unpleasant things. She was white haired, sharp tongued and extremely loving. She worked in a small library in the middle of town and thoughtfully brought home a book for her granddaughter to read every week. She noticed with every book that Erin read, her happiness returned setting the tradition in stone.
By J.J. Walker6 years ago in Futurism
The Sea Keeper's Daughter
Aisling took a deep breath, drawing in as much oxygen as possible. Rich scents of the spring meadow filled her lungs. Clover flowers, wild primroses and dust that had been picked up off the hot ground by the wind. She knelt in the dirt path that she herself had forged. It led from her small stone cabin, to the trout pond up the hill. Laying just off the path in a patch of lush green grass, was a wounded hare. The poor hare was breathing sharply, its eyes darted from Aisling to the surroundings, calculating an escape should Aisling make one wrong move.
By Samantha Kaszas6 years ago in Futurism
Eyes on the Horizon. Third Place in Fair Winds Challenge.
The waves crashed into the rocks like they had done every morning. I stood at the water's edge, searching for something that isn't supposed to exist. My father died declaring its existence. He was hanged for treason on my tenth birthday. For five years since that day, I have come here everyday in the early dawn, through rain and freezing temperatures, hoping to prove he didn't die for nothing.
By Natalie Spack6 years ago in Futurism
The Spectrum of the Sea
Viola was an unusual type of mermaid for two reasons: the first reason being her choice to only tease her appearance to humans so the theories and myths would keep spinning on land, rather than swimming after the collective dream to fall in love with a human. All other mermaids she had ever known and met had a longing to live among the humans, a story she grew tired of quickly upon hearing it over and over. She loved lingering close to ships, boats, and even humans on surfboards drifting out further than they should to talk about catching a glimpse of a mythical creature. Their conversations were fun, but she never felt anything for any of them beyond amusement.
By Dani Banani6 years ago in Futurism
The Boy with Silver Eyes
Not a single soul contained courage to make contact with him. Stories began to emerge of how he mocked the fate of the blessed, a lingering curse spouting mirthless laughter for remembrance of what shall not come to be. Even the rare merchant passing by, offering sustenance, walked away with an illusion of a soul.
By Cameron Smith6 years ago in Futurism
Dark Water
Eyes closed, nose pointed to the sky, Stjarna swirled in angst to break through to the world above the surface as the sounds of her mothers cries taunted her. The sorrow in her heart grew and the image of her mother taken aboard the ship pierced her mind: defenceless, alone, battered. Stjarna burned with anger as she broke the surface and sprung to the air, screaming at the other world.
By Shahnee Hunter6 years ago in Futurism
Death Takes a Bride
Mala should have known what all the rites meant. The runes wound around her wrists like bracelets, all the protections in the world for what they called the killing tide. It was supposed to strike only the frailest of women, and the elders made sure she had taken her cups of herb concoctions in the event that something happened on the day of her ceremony. She hadn't glimpsed her soon-to-be husband yet, though they had spoken on either side of a curtain to share their first words to each other, and through the gap he had grasped her hands in a firm yet gentle grip. Just that one touch had been enough to make a spark light in her heart.
By Jillian Spiridon6 years ago in Futurism
The Misfortune of Larks
“It’s cold for October,” Weston said, wiping the frost from his beard. His breath hovered bitterly in the pale light of his lantern. The island hadn’t seen snow in a long time, but he felt it looming in the air as the night set in. The boy following closely behind remained wordless, his gaze lost upon the expanse of headstones that sprawled out before them.
By E.M. Brown6 years ago in Futurism
Ode to the Pirate Queen
Some say she never existed at all, that she was just a tale made too big to go away and disappear into the grand blue. She had no name—or, if she did, it was lost to the waves which claimed her—but she was known. Women like that didn't just charm men with their rouged lips and their pretty words; it wouldn't have surprised any of us if she charmed the sea with a shanty she had heard on the winds, born from the mouths of sirens who sung our sailors down to Poseidon's gate.
By Jillian Spiridon6 years ago in Futurism
