Marshell Harris
Bio
Just a writer who lives in a small town that has her head stuck in the cloud of her imagination. From Dragons to demons, the drama and comedy is there.
Stories (2)
Filter by community
The Ghost King
“Do you fear death?” I was asked this while I stared a single little jellyfish this massive tank which towered over me. Why was I here? The room was dim yet lit up enough from the neon lights at the base of the tank. The tank was large slab built into the concrete wall, standing at least seven feet tall and 8 foot wide. Obviously, it was the eye catcher of the room. My fingers were painfully tangled around each other the longer the question hovered unanswered. Why the hell was I here? My eyes fell closed when I heard glass gently clinked on glass, suddenly feeling an uninviting presence next to my right shoulder. It wasn’t the warmth that wasn’t, but exactly who is was that was uninviting. I reopened my eyes when he calmly cleared his throat and voice came smooth. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
By Marshell Harris5 years ago in Fiction
The Neon Pit
The sun was casting shadows of the decaying buildings out onto the warm water front. The sound of crickets and frogs already singing their melody in the tall, dancing grass as the city slept silently. Each sky scraper was covered with moss and their windows either broken or were gone. Some had fallen over, some slumped against one another, or some were just standing skeletons of aged steel or thinning wood. There was a gentle whistle when the breeze passed through hollowed cars and cooed over street signs. The streets had flourished into a tall, waving grassy field. It turned from bright, healthy green to near black the sun hid behind the buildings. The car’s silhouettes stretched down the streets till they swallowed the entire street. Darkness had now awoken now that night has arrived. A street lights flickered to life, glowing florescent purple down over a bus stop. The next block, the next street light flickering on, being a dull green. The next light was crimson red. As the next light flickered on to be neon blue, the blaring noise of a storm siren rose obnoxiously louder. The noise echoed through the streets, closer; it vibrated broken glass and trembled water in the streets. The eerie, ear bleeding noise had awoken the city.
By Marshell Harris5 years ago in Futurism
