fantasy
Celebrating the fantastical. Let your imagination run wild.
The Choice
Giorgio Romero, commonly known as Georgie, lifted the cushions from the floral pattern sofa which had recently been donated to the thrift store at which he worked. He proceeded to insert his gloved hand deep inside the space between the seat and back of the sofa. Usually, he found little more than old food crumbs, some loose change, an occasional remote control, and miscellaneous dirty garments in donated furniture. Sometimes they were fairly clean other times pretty disgusting, but Georgie was used to just about anything he came across. This particular sofa wasn’t much different he did find a few coins worth about seventy-eight cents, a dollar bill, and a small black book which people kept addresses and phone numbers. Georgie quickly flipped through the pages to find the pages seemed to be blank as if the book was new and suddenly lost to the owner before it could be used. He slipped the book into his back pocket and pocketed the money into his front pocket, perks of the job! He finished cleaning the sofa using a vacuum to suck the remainder of the dirt and crumbs into the canister and replaced the cushions back onto the seat. Once finished Georgie headed to the supervisor’s office and peeked his head through the door, “Just wanted to let you know I finished up cleaning that sofa in the back. I’m going to clock out and take off Bob if that’s alright?” Bob looked up from his computer screen towards Georgie and said “That’s fine buddy, it’s your Friday I hope you have a nice weekend. Thanks for your hard work as always.” Georgie half saluted with his forefinger and middle fingers and headed out of the building.
By Blake Nelson6 years ago in Futurism
The Blood Oath
The last box crashed to the floor with a hard clank, making me wince at the possibility of having just broken something important. I sighed, too tired to open the box and survey any damage and just left it. The sun had long since set, and even with every light on in the house, this place was alien and creepy. My uncle had been a weird sort. He collected odds and ends, books of different folklore, bottles of unidentifiable body parts big and small, and just about anything else you could imagine. To say he was quite obsessed with what he generally referred to as “the Fae” was an understatement. His house reflected that obsession with wall-to-wall hand-drawn diagrams, notes, books, bugs, and of course an array of dirty dishes left sporadically where he had placed them. We had not been particularly close but I did spend three summers with him a long time ago. Back then, his work had fascinated me, though to be fair what child wouldn’t have been fascinated by the idea that the Fae exist? After that third summer my parents never allowed me to go back, said they didn’t want my uncle filling my head with nonsensical ideas of fairies. This led to me attending more science camps that I could shake a stick at, heavily influencing my decision to attend med school for general practice.
By Barakah Smith6 years ago in Futurism
Of Selkies and White Lawn Nighties
The storm broke as I climbed the stairs; I thought “Hallelew! this humidity will be done and I can sleep tonight.” I watched as the lightening crackled across the bay, finding home in the shore, the lights flickered once, then - POP we lost power. I LOVE a good storm I crawled into my pulling up the quilt and I settled in to enjoy the crackle and POW of the Thunder-Gods rolling their bowling balls across the sky. I fell asleep sometime after midnight. The storm front moving past and a gentle rain coming down. Combining with the soft rhythmic swhsish of the waves across the sand and the shore the breeze; the night captured my consciousness and we dived into sleep.
By Sharalynne Middleton6 years ago in Futurism
Cursed
This might come as a surprise to you but it is considered bad luck to be unlucky. When one is unlucky all sorts of things can go wrong. Most things never go right and the simplest tasks can prove to be most dangerous. Kara Harrison was one of those people who had the unfortunate bad luck to be unlucky. She was so accident prone that even the least superstitious people in her town speculated whether the girl had been cursed.
By Terri Connolly6 years ago in Futurism
Love is all you need
Taylor wound through the crowded diner balancing full plates of the daily special on her arms. The aroma of meatloaf was reminiscent of Sunday dinners at her grandparents’ house, a place of family and love. Making her way to the young couple in the corner, she noticed an empty window table where a grey-haired gentleman had been enjoying his meal. “Bathroom break?” she thought, while simultaneously praying that he hadn’t run out on his bill.
By Kristina Akeley6 years ago in Futurism
The Path
An open road stretched off in the distance. The end found itself at the beginning. A circle. The circle. Iterin walked along the path, passing landmarks and sketching them into his black-book. These days Iterin felt unsure of where he existed in the world. He always assumed there was more, that a discovery lay just over the next hill or just under the next rock, something that would slide the last puzzle piece into place and complete who he was. As Iterin walked and aged he became scared of that never happening, and terrified that feeling was one of greed and distraction all-together. Iterin finished sketching a collection of massive rocks in the distance. They stood hundreds of steps tall, piercing straight up into the sky. Other massive rocks torn and shaped by the wind hung off them at inconceivable angles suggesting rock-roots that reached deep into the earth. Iterin watched them as if they’d move; hoping they’d move, so he’d have a reason to chase them. But that would mean leaving the path, nobody left the path. Iterin’s mother told him horror stories of people who did, stories of hollow souls walking into long grass and never returning, stories of wayward children thinking it a way to escape their adolescence and break free from the direction the path blessed upon them. None of them returned. Those that stay on the path are sure that their end was nothing less than horrific and painful. Their lives depended on it. Their happiness depended on it.
By William Johnston6 years ago in Futurism
Little Black Book
I ride the dragon Griselda home from a battle where we conquered the Kingdom of Trolls. I need sustenance and sleep. Now we are flying through a thick fog, and the last time we flew through fog the ground appeared out of nowhere and I was nearly dismounted, on purpose I suspected, when she hit the ground. I see light this time instead of the ground and she lands with a thump and I go flying. When I open my eyes after hitting the ground the dragon is nowhere to be seen. I hate it when she does this. As my eyes take in these new surroundings I see a small black object sitting on a nightstand.
By Karen Lumley6 years ago in Futurism
