Lesley Woodral
Bio
Lesley Woodral is the author of The Merryweather Chronicles, New Genesis, and Indepenendant Contractor.
When he isn't writing or creating artwork, he enjoys reading comics, playing video games, and collecting Funkos.
Find him on Amazon!
Stories (11)
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Portal
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. He told her many times to stay out of his room, but she always found herself returning to stare out of the opening, at the world she could never visit.
By Lesley Woodral3 years ago in Fiction
GAME OVER
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The soft glow reflected off the dirty glass and was easy to pick out in the dark. Shadows hugged the cabin and only a sliver of moon showed in the starless sky peaking through the canopy of trees.
By Lesley Woodral4 years ago in Fiction
Serpent Moon
There weren't always dragons in the valley. Winter paused in her digging and frowned, the words tugging at something in her memory. Where had she heard that before? Was it from her mother? Some story told when she was still a child, sitting next to the hearth?
By Lesley Woodral4 years ago in Fiction
Remnant Of Flame
"There weren't always dragons in the Valley." The old man said, carefully placing his now empty mug on the counter before him. He blinked at the watching tavern keeper with wet red rimmed eyes and shook his head. "Once, when I was but a lad and the old king still lived, the valley was home to the Aelfin. And, if you traveled there, they'd grant your fondest wish."
By Lesley Woodral4 years ago in Fiction
Writer's Block
Janine sat at her writing table and stared at the new document she had created what seemed like a million years earlier. It hadn’t been a million years, more like fifteen minutes, but as she sat, lost in thought, watching the blinking cursor on the laptop screen, Janine felt like time was flying as fast as her racing thoughts.
By Lesley Woodral4 years ago in Horror
The Pond
The pond sat in the back corner of the pasture, bordered by thick clumps of pine and leather leaf and thick tufts of rat grass and sticker bushes ready to snag the unwary. Anna Sanford knelt at the pond's edge, booted feet sinking in the muddy grass as she studied the murky water.
By Lesley Woodral4 years ago in Fiction
