fantasy
Celebrating the fantastical. Let your imagination run wild.
A Simple Trade
Turns out Patrick is a bust. His powers aren’t permanent, or even close to what I need. Temporary astral projection to body possession – useless. I make the note about what he can do in my small black leatherback notebook, then I draw a neat line through his name. ‘Sorry,’ I say to him, ‘I don’t think you can help me.’ I snap shut the book and give him a vague smile.
By Alex Ogilvie6 years ago in Futurism
The Bookbinder
There once was a wee little town in Northern Scotland, and on the very edge of the town lived a rather rotund old man who was known and loved by all. He was a jolly fellow, from his frizzy red hair all the way down to his beloved pointy boots, which was not a long distance. The old man lived at one end of the long road that all of the town lived upon, for it was not a large town with many streets criss crossing here and there, but merely a collection of houses along a single strip. At the far end of the town was the home of the bookbinder, a dullard. The bookbinder had only recently appeared in the town, much to the surprise and consternation of the townspeople. After all, how many books could a small town possibly require?
By Landry Oliver6 years ago in Futurism
The Dark
Bell died while she slept. Day and night no longer existed, time was now defined by sleep or awake. Jess frowned. Bell had been so excited to see the wicks. Fifty cured and intricately braided, ready for use lantern tapers. Ten-thousand dollars worth. Half of what he found in the lock box, the other half, another 10K, now secured in a pouch deep within her backpack.
By Julie St Thomas6 years ago in Futurism
Woven Lines
There is a peculiar feeling when one has hit rock bottom. They do things they normally wouldn’t do, which is why David found himself wandering in the middle of nowhere, scuffing his pristine leather Bontoni shoes on a forgotten dirt path. It was all to find some strange woman named Opal.
By Madeline Docherty6 years ago in Futurism
WHAT LIBBY WANTS
“Okay, Carmen, today’s the day. I can feel it," I said, rubbing my hands together. The food stained seat of my Toyota Camry squeaked as I shifted my legs. My best friend Kendric says she's too beat up for a name like Carmen, but her rusted patches and once rocket red paint was evidence of her fight to get me through pretty much every lemon life had thrown. I knew the first day I sat in the driver’s seat Carmen and I were soulmates. I stuck my hand out my partially rolled down window and opened my door, closing it with my legging-clad hip. Then, giving Carmen a quick rub for luck, I walked into Thrift World.
By J.R. Anderson6 years ago in Futurism
The Secret of Time
I was eighteen when I first realised how little I understood about how Time works. As children we are taught to read it, as if it is a concept easily grasped and rooted in fact. They say it’s entirely structured, moving at a steady pace. A force that cannot be slowed or sped to suit our needs. Instead, Time continues on its everlasting journey at a stubborn pace, only ever moving forward. But I now know this could not be further from the truth.
By Zainab Ali6 years ago in Futurism
