Rebekah Brannan
Bio
I'm an eighteen-year-old ballerina, authoress, opera singer, and video editor! I love classic films, vintage fashion, fantasy, and "The Phantom of the Opera"! (My guilty pleasures are Broadway musicals and Star Wars!)
Stories (9)
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We Meet in the White
Midnight, November 5, 2024 Election Day has come and gone. The ballots have been counted, the decision reached, and it’s all over at last. All across the United States, the winning side celebrates, bursting fireworks and champagne corks like it’s the Fourth of July, while the losers’ unused explosives are buried and their champagne used to drown their sorrows. Tomorrow, the riots will start, for there were rioters ready to march no matter the outcome. Such is the state of the world.
By Rebekah Brannanabout a year ago in Fiction
Vanish. Top Story - November 2024.
The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. It was my job to count the cards. Every day, I took them out of their locked box and counted them out carefully. Exactly fifty-two, except on days when the jokers decided to show up. They never came on the same day, so the count never got beyond fifty-three. If they were ever to show up together and make the count fifty-four, I think the world might end.
By Rebekah Brannanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Phantom of Stage 16
The first picture I ever made was called One Glance. It was the story of a man who falls hopelessly in love with a girl after catching just one glimpse of her in a crowded train station. He didn’t know her name or anything else about her. All he’d caught was a fleeting look at her face and a brief echo of her voice, but he knew he couldn’t live without her. The movie followed his ten-year journey to find her again without knowing a thing about her. I’d always thought that the story was sappy and preposterous. I never believed that someone could truly fall in love so quickly, until the day she wandered onto Stage 16.
By Rebekah Brannan2 years ago in Chapters
The Phantom of Stage 16
Hollywood, Ca, 1936 Every year, thousands of hopeful girls from all over the country journey to Hollywood, hoping to be the next big star. Out of them, about one in every hundred thousand makes it. Out of all those hopeful girls, why should I, little Christine Davis from Columbus, Ohio, have been that one? I still don’t know the answer to that question. I suppose it was a combination of perseverance, being in the right place at the right time, Divine Providence, and some good, old-fashioned luck.
By Rebekah Brannan2 years ago in Fiction
The Clock Shoppe
It was one of those first chilly days in October, when you feel that magical stirring of autumn in the air. The calendars always name some date in September as the official first day of fall, but autumn is one of those things that can’t be announced on any calendar. It’s something you feel as a palpable sensation in your heart, like love.
By Rebekah Brannan2 years ago in Chapters
Don't Call Me Cinderella
First off, this is not a fairytale. There’s no wishing well, no fairy godmother, and no “Someday My Prince Will Come.” If that’s settled, you’re welcome to listen. Unless you’re a hopeless romantic who only wants to hear “happily ever after” and “wishes come true”. Well, once upon a time, that wasn’t this story.
By Rebekah Brannan2 years ago in Fiction
Staring
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. He had been born at the beginning of all this, the same as her. In fact, the same day, in the same hour. One week later, the storms had come. The Mistress treated her as if she had brought them.
By Rebekah Brannan3 years ago in Fiction
Beyond the Mountains
Regoral I thought humans were a myth. In my youth, I had believed the frightening stories my mother told me of murdering men who invaded our land, bringing death and destruction in their wake, but, when I came of age, I quickly gave up believing such stories. Surely, the human race was nothing more than a legend invented by mothers to frighten their young ones into obedience. That was what I thought, until the day I found Torin.
By Rebekah Brannan3 years ago in Fiction
The Phantom of Stage 16: Prologue
His face was by all rights his fortune. Beginning in 1920, Erik Stevenson was the king of silent movies. When the striking 20-year-old first arrived in Hollywood in 1919, he was said to look very much like famous stage and screen star John Barrymore. However, within just a year of his screen debut, his own piercing eyes and dramatic profile became the very logo of Hollywood. The lines around the theater for his films were spectacular, and he could hardly make films quickly enough to please his audience. Many studios tried desperately to get his contract, but he remained forever loyal to the studio that gave him his start.
By Rebekah Brannan3 years ago in Fiction
