Marya Pettingill
Bio
I'm just a Marine Biologist swimming in a sea of ideas yet to be written.
Stories (14)
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Dragon Moon
Bejeng knew how to follow tears like breadcrumbs through the forest; the dragon could smell them miles away from the terrace of the ornate temple that overlooked the misty forest hills. His white and golden scales shimmered as he raised his head, nostrils flaring toward the dense green below, like all the times before. The human sitting next to him continued to doze in the warmth despite the movement as Bejeng rose. Most of the crowd that began to congregate in front of the Gates within the temple had stopped caring when the dragon returned with another townsperson, solemnly accepting the unstoppable tragedy like an unbreakable earthquake that sucks the world around them. They sat on the marble floor, waiting for The Gates to open and mumbling to each other in hushed voices. No laughter resonated through the walls, and no tears were shed either, just a fog of confusion and detachment misting their minds and allowing them to drift off into their heads, impartial to the newcomers.
By Marya Pettingill3 years ago in Fiction
The Decision
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The only building within viewing distance to the abandoned cabin was a house not much larger, home to a middle-aged couple. Upon seeing the light in their neighbor’s window, the man called out to his wife, Alandra, from the kitchen. “I believe someone has finally purchased the old Barlett cabin.” After a few moments, he heard her shuffling feet and the rhythmic tap, tap, tap of her cane connecting with the hardwood floors. She took her usual place next to him looking out the window above the large double sink. They stared in silence, memories settling over them like an oppressive winter fog. Khai suppressed a shudder at the scene that haunted his deepest nightmares, one of torn flesh and blood. Thankfully, his wife pulled him from the memory with a light touch on his arm, he placed his hand over hers in grateful appreciation. He looked over at her in alarm as her hand was ice cold even though it was in the middle of a warm spring night. Taking her cold hands in his, he tried to massage his warmth into her. Meeting her light amber eyes, he caught glimpses of several emotions passing over her face too quick to discern their meaning but finally landing on quiet interest.
By Marya Pettingill4 years ago in Horror
