J. S. Wade
Bio
Since reading Tolkien in Middle school, I have been fascinated with creating, reading, and hearing art through story’s and music. I am a perpetual student of writing and life.
J. S. Wade owns all work contained here.
Stories (248)
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The Guardian
As I lifted into the gentle air, golden rays burned through the early morning skies. Its glow shimmered off my pearl-white feathers like the colors of the rainbow. Cotton clouds like down pillows awoke and parted as I climbed towards the indigo heavens. Fading stars winked one last time before they slipped off to their slumber for the day. The earth below diminished as I worked the air flows and rose ever higher. The terraformed artwork appeared as patchworks of ochre fields, green grasses, and shrinking emerald forests below.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in Fiction
The Big Red's Gang - Part 2
The Big Red's Gang, Part 2 Graphic violence ___________________________ The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. Who was this in the bathroom mirror? Howard, the wimp, would have stared back at me twenty-four hours earlier. As Poppy had said, "a pimply-faced bum." Now, the pimples remained, but Duck's eyes blazed with hope. The muscles in my arms seemed to have grown overnight, and my hair was darker, like Poppy's. The Big Red bandanna, tied around my head, was a banner under which to charge into the future. Yet, there was something missing. The ingrained hope of acceptance was new. But what was missing? Then it dawned on me. My lifelong fears had been driven out by the gang of ghosts in a red 1967 Dodge Challenger that had stood up for me, defended me, and fought for me. Prior to meeting Poppy in the broken rear-view mirror, fear had debilitated my ability to exist beyond running away. He had changed my name from Howard to Duck, and I'm a full member of The Big Red's Gang. We don't do drugs but fight to get them off of our streets. Without fear, I run to any noble fight because I found others to care about.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in Fiction
The Big Red's Gang . Top Story - March 2023.
Domestic and Graphic The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. I should have never removed the duct tape from the cracked rearview mirror. Piercing black eyes leered at me from a scarred windblown face every bit twenty years my senior. The remnants of a blackened bullet hole oozed congealed blood from his forehead and down his face. In shock, I gasped and swerved onto the shoulder of the desert highway.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in Fiction
