Jordan Zuniga
Bio
Aspiring christian creative writer creating pieces to provoke thought and give God and Lord Jesus Christ the glory! God bless and I hope you’re doing well!
Stories (449)
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Through the Amazon.
The vibrations from the Amazon River traveled both to the east and to the west as Javier continued to row west side, and Ernesto paddled near the east. The buzzing of mosquitos continued to randomly flutter around my ears at the worst times as the sunlight continued to rise upon the east. My dad sat near my side, as the other tourists continued to gaze around them. I looked up at my dad in curiosity. "Dad, are you sure Ernesto knows where he's going? I wanna go see the macaws!" I noted.
By Jordan Zuniga4 years ago in Fiction
The maiden that lurked in the swamp.
The stench of the murky decay arose as the humming of mosquitos continued to flutter in the airwaves. The choir of frogs and toads continued their constant clicks and ribbits as vibrations began to disturb the waters. The moon light barely glimmered from the veil of dark clouds, the stars remained hidden in the heavens, as the appearance of a horrid woman emerged onto the surface in the river. A subtle cackle, a flick of the wrist, and a constant twisting and dragging of her limbs as she arose from the surface, with something wrapped in her arms covered in putrid cloth. She cackled maniacally, as her eyes gazed at the lamplights in the nearest town that glowed defiantly in the shadows of night. The time for words, had past...
By Jordan Zuniga4 years ago in Fiction
Not with what, but how.
Such horrid days with better ways, as the heart then surely stays. The constant way throughout this life, with agonizing, constant strife. Life, is a repetition of sorrowful moments, isn’t it? The times and seasons where the sun shines all the clearer throughout the days passing, and yet a shrouded veil seems over the heavens, and the storms of life tend to toss back, to and fro, while hope tries defiantly to burn as a lamppost despite the downpour of the rain. The very shadows of the nightfall seem to intrude upon the suns portion in the sky, and the darkness that lingers in the hearts of all free folk, slave or free, I or thee, man or woman, adult or child, dwelling in the city or journeying in the wild, either settling or in the midst of trial. The wilderness territory, has that effect, doesn’t it? That feeling of pursuing adventurous deeds or accepting perilous quests we have yet to undertake, and yet, we struggle and wrestle with enduring as time goes by. Yet, I have been blessed to both receive and perceive in the midst of tribulations and in the center of the raging storm is this: It is not whether we should or should not endure trying times, but rather, how we choose to respond in the midst of conflict is what defines the tale that will be told, the songs yet to be sung, and the accounts of what took place. The storm is not the problem: our attitudes are. This was what I thought about, as I drove towards work.
By Jordan Zuniga4 years ago in Fiction
