Deasun T. Smyth
Bio
Eighteen years ago… I was born into the wind-swept lands of the prairies – where I regularly fly on dragons and battle goblin kings.
I'm a First Nation's wannabe writer, trying to survive college...
Stories (67)
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Around the camp fire.
The cabin in the woods was abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Sinister, was the way it flickered, like streams of death held its finger on it. Misha stared at it, from a distance. The eerie smell of the vomit-coloured sky wavered, like the peaceful blue sky was trying to punch through. But it was forlorn, the hazy smog chocked the life out of the forest. Leaving the trees bare, twisting with their spindling limbs. Misha lived with her father, and mother-of-step. Their small cottage sat in the dense woods of haze, the odd yellow house seemed like a swab for the dead forest. But miles away, was the old cabin, that held the flickering light of the candle.
By Deasun T. Smyth4 years ago in Fiction
The Dragons Tale.
“There weren’t always dragons in the valley”. Said Noelle, she tucked her baby dragonet in its rocky cradle. The tiny dragon looked at her with wide inquiring eyes, that sparkled like gold in the dimly lit home. “The great dragon king led us through an exodus, from our accursed home”. Noelle spoke softly, trying not to stir her other dragnet. Rip, he was sleeping soundlessly, in the corner of the room. His breathing echoed across the room. Though no-one knows why, it’s apparent that he hates his younger sister, Light. He never spoke of her, and when he did, he said it in malice. Light fell asleep before her mother finished her tale. Noelle wrapped her warmly in her blankets, she was as innocent as the day she was born. Which just so happens to be a very unique day, the dragoon's festival: She’s the only dragon born on the night, asides the king himself.
By Deasun T. Smyth4 years ago in Fiction
