It was dark. The leaves are blowing in the wind & the sound of whistling flows through the air. It’s mid-november & the trees are already losing their leaves. Like a dried up sponge, they shrink & break off to gather along with their leaf relatives. The moon shining brighter than normal, it lit up the space around the area.
A particular Friday afternoon has just come to pass in the middle of January 1979. The next few hours are about to reveal the impending doom for one young lad’s affairs of the heart. . .
Death. That was the only word to describe the odor seeping through the walls of my apartment. I had had problems with mice just months before. The building is old, and many a crack and cranny adorned its structure. This in mind, mice in the apartment was a common occurrence, despite my best efforts in sealing possible holes and laying traps. It made sense to assume that this stench was emanating from a deceased rodent in the confines of the dividing wall between my kitchen and the outer hallway. It was so pungent, that it began to creep under my door and wafted into my living quarters.
When Alina arrived, the first thing she saw was the doctors were still working on Bryce, rushing to save his life. Only, they seemed to be more frantic, as if they were losing him instead of saving him. The very thought of this made Alina's worry soar to unheard-of heights. The doctors were moving as fast humanly possible, and it seemed as though they were beginning to lose hope. She soon became aware of her cousin Edward sitting next to her. He took notice of her awakening. Giving her a look of pity, Edward let out a small sigh.
As the plane landed in Denver, relief came over Mona. She made it, but it is still very much in question what her plan would be. She didn't want to stay long in Denver, and she still had her apartment and John back in New York City, but she needed to get away for a bit and find herself. Mona gathered her things, ready to exit the plane as it came to a complete stop. While leaving the plane, she took a look around the airport to see her new home for a few weeks. The dry heat hit her like a ton of bricks when she left the cold airport.
Before we start, I want to preface this by establishing some out-of-text information about this series. House of Night is credited to two authors, P.C. Cast and Kristin Cast, a mother-daughter team. However, in several interviews and Q&As, they have stressed that they did not actually co-author the series. Instead, P.C. Cast wrote the books and Kristin Cast helped her first as a teen voice editor, and then later as a frontline editor. (Cast and Cast 2017:277; Cast and Cast 2018:332; Cast and Cast 2020:358, 363; Rought 2020; Fricot 2019) It’s not clear exactly when this shift in roles occurred, nor is it ever clearly explained what a frontline editor does, but both women firmly state that Kristin Cast is not an author or co-author on the series. However, for the sake of simplicity and abiding official citations for the series, I will be referring to the authorship of this series as though it were a joint effort.
Dear reader, let me start at the beginning.
In primary school (read "elementary school" if you're American), I was picked on a lot for being as the teachers called me "too nosy". In secondary school (read "high school"), I was again picked on by teachers and boys in my grade for being "too talkative", "too interested in gist and gossip".
“Class, I would like you all to please welcome Miss Ninibeth March to Monroe High,” said Ms. Highchurch in 1st period. “Miss March, could you tell us a bit about yourself?”
Years later when the prince was old and gray he would return to the beach once more. The prince always liked the waterfront, in the bittersweet way people liked Christmas. Much has changed since the shipwreck. The wild shore was now covered in bathing sheds, they had set a fun fair up at the wharf.
Closing and locking the door of my office I stroll down the hall, waving goodbye to coworkers as I pass by offices and cubicles. I may just be a desk clerk for the boss, but after last years christmas fiasco, no one questions my exact position here, especially Bob.Every time his nose or back itches or hurts, he is going to think of me. How great it is to be remembered, but it’s not my fault he didn't turn on the self security building procedure like he was supposed to. No , not my fault at all. At least I don’t get called a imposter anymore. Everyone used to think that I got treated like a boss, rather than a secretary. Which in a way is true, but I am still technically a secretary. I walk down the hall to the elevator and go down to the main floor. Of course my office had to be at the top of a 5 story tall building. Cause the added two minutes is totally worth it. That’s two minutes out of my precious life, every day, multiple times. I can see my life flashing before my eyes already.
“Come back to bed,” Tara Ramos purred huskily into my ear as my feet hit the carpet in my hotel room. We’ve been friends with benefits on and off for a couple years now and I always ended up regretting the “on” part. She was a nice girl, on the thicker side, just how I liked them. And the sex was decent enough to keep coming back. But every time we hooked up, I sensed she grew closer and closer to sprouting feelings for me and I just wasn’t into her like that. The only reason I even invited her was to keep Kiana away from me. I came clean to Carlos about the situation months ago and it didn’t make much of a difference. He claimed to have spoken to her and the flirting did stop at first. However, Kiana seemed to be on a mission. And her mission seemed to involve trapping me into her twisted games.
Short Story inspired by song “Letters” by Facundo Raganato
The Story of Giselle & Damian
My name is Timothy Quain. I'm a writer from the town of Lestville. I think I am the most appropiate to tell this story...