Haddessah Anne Brice
Bio
An aspiringiring author, handicraft maker, and plus size model. Just trying to keep the bills paid and the cat fed, for now.
Stories (12)
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In My Eyes: The Fall of Troy Chapter 4
I was dropped unceremoniously to the sand. I caught bits and pieces of the very short battle as I danced on the edge of consciousness. I tried to regain my feet, but had only managed to struggle to my knees when I felt the golden warrior's hands gently lifting me into his arms. He carried me like a child across the beach and into his hut.
By Haddessah Anne Brice4 years ago in Fiction
In My Eyes: The Fall Of Troy Chapter 3
After he left, I sat wondering what was expected of me. I thought of escape, but one peek around the skin that was the door of his hut and I knew that was not an option, yet. I thought of tidying up, but my royal stubbornness won over. I refused to do anything that I wasn't forced to do, so I settled down on a pile of furs and fell asleep.
By Haddessah Anne Brice4 years ago in Fiction
In My Eyes: The Fall of Troy Chapter 2
No sooner had I regained my wits and composure than I heard the door flap being moved aside and the voice of the blue eyed man telling someone that the men thought I would "amuse" him. If I could have stretched that far, I would have buried my face in my raised knees, but I could not. I fixed my gaze on a spot on the wall opposite me. With my peripheral vision, I could make out the form of the golden warrior from the temple. He took a long drink from a water pitcher then threw the rest down his back. He looked younger than the other man and had it been different circumstances, I would have been quite taken by his beauty. Even with a layer of blood and grime all over him, one could easily see his chiseled jaw and muscular body, fashioned by the gods. But I was too frightened -- and angry -- to care. I set my jaw and kept my eyes focused on that most enlightening dark spot on the wall.
By Haddessah Anne Brice4 years ago in Fiction
In My Eyes: The Fall Of Troy
The war had finally come. I could feel the ground beneath my feet tremble with the pounding of thousands of Greek sandals and the drums of the ships that were bringing still more strangers to my shores in the name of war. They came for her - the Spartan queen turned Trojan princess, whom my cousin Paris had charmed away from her husband. The scorned king was determined to bring destruction to my country; to my people; to my family.
By Haddessah Anne Brice4 years ago in Fiction
Moondays by the Sea
“Hello! Welcome to Sweet Tooth Confections, how can I help you today?” The girl behind the counter at my local bakery when I walked in was new, probably in her mid twenties, and very pretty. I steeled myself for the usual type of interaction.
By Haddessah Anne Brice5 years ago in Fiction
Silent Screams
They weren’t expecting much of a fight from the twenty-nine year old college student and activist they had been sent to kidnap; who was mostly deaf, barely verbal, and rarely wore her hearing aids. The two men knew all this because they had been watching her for days. She was currently loading a box of supplies and handmade rally signs next to the now empty cooler in the hatchback trunk of her car.
By Haddessah Anne Brice5 years ago in Fiction
Princess Under the Mountain
"... But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell." I remember dying. I remember struggling to say those words to Bilbo, my friend, to whom I had spoken quite cruelly some hours before. I remember the peace in my mind and the pain in my body suddenly being gone. So why am I back here, watching my cousin Dain about to be crowned King Under the Mountain?
By Haddessah Anne Brice5 years ago in Fiction
Faerie Night
He attempted to peer through the thick fog. No moon tonight and no proper rain, just the bone chilling mist. He gripped his wife’s cold fingers more tightly and together they stumbled through the dark woods, silent but for their passing. They needed shelter, a safe place to rest. “Please…” He prayed silently. “Not so much for meself, but for her and the babe within.”
By Haddessah Anne Brice5 years ago in Fiction
Run
I rushed to lace and tie a pair of oversized, battered combat boots onto my feet over three pairs of thick socks to make them fit, then tucked the tops of my pants onto them. My adoptive father was holding out an old fatigue jacket for me to slip into. It would be too big, but keep me warm. I tugged on an extra sweater over my head; hand knitted by my adoptive mother from several different colors and textures of repurposed yarn. I could hear the woman in the next room, crying as she moved around.
By Haddessah Anne Brice5 years ago in Fiction
