Chris Plog
Bio
Stories (4)
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The Dream of an Old Dog
Once upon a time, over the river and through the woods, past grandmother’s house in an abandoned cottage, there lived a stray dog. This lost cur didn’t have a name, or possessions. The only things he had were fleas, a single friend (a fellow outcast like himself) and a dream. And his dream was to eat a piece of chocolate cake. Years passed and the dog grew old and his dream slowly faded.
By Chris Plog5 years ago in Fiction
The Great War
“Bonjour!” I called out to the old man chopping firewood. The sun scorched man smiles at me and my three friends as we ride up to him. “Good evening, sir! Me and my fellow officers require lodging and feed for our horses!” I don’t bother politely asking. We are all contributing to the war effort.
By Chris Plog5 years ago in Humans
Simple foods
I have travelled a lot in my life. I was born in Texas, we moved to New York when I was three, moved to Illinois when I was nine, and moved to Ohio when I was twelve. That was all before college! I went to college in upstate New York for two years, travelled Canada for a year, then finished my degree before moving to Pennsylvania with my best friend. I met my beautiful wife, moved to New Hampshire with her, and finally ended up in North Carolina. Internationally other than my time in Canada, my dad took me to Italy for my Senior year of Highschool.
By Chris Plog5 years ago in Feast
Apocalypse in Ancient Egypt
Slowly I approach our dark pyramids. Gazing at their unfathomable height I feel a tear roll down my cheek at our loss. These pyramids now lifeless and dead once thrummed with power, lighting the night with Ra’s blessed night. But I do not lose myself in my grief, only one tear am I allowed this night. Gripping my flint spear (I’d trade my left arm for my favorite steel spear, now broken and none left with the knowledge of making steel), I stride through the still burning sand listening to any out of place sound that may betray a would be murderer. The only thing I come across is a snoozing patrol of Set’s men, and though I would give my right arm to kill the traitors I slip away undetected.
By Chris Plog5 years ago in Fiction
