Roger Stefani
Bio
I've done many things in my life but always come back to writing; I have an inner voice that wants to be expressed and I need to build the discipline to do so.
Stories (4)
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Fishing Lessons
I sat in the fishing boat, feeling it list as my Dad busied himself by digging through his bait box, muttering about useless lures as he freed the small tin filled with worms from the tangle of various hooks, lead lines and lures jumbled in the bottom. I shivered from the cool damp early morning breeze that rippled across the top of the water and through my tussled shock of hair. He didn't seem to notice as he grunted with the satisfaction of selecting a worm to sacrifice on the hook to what he hoped would be a large trout.
By Roger Stefani2 years ago in Families
Dragon's Bane
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. There were myths and legends told around the campfires for hundreds of years, but that was what everyone living in the valley assumed; they were myths and legends. Things changed last fall, first with the mysterious disappearance of half a flock of sheep on the south slope of “the three heroes”, the mountain in the north end of the valley known for its very distinct three snow-capped peaks, which resembled three heads with white helmets. Brother Jerrol, a local monk and sheep herder, stumbled into the village of Merrywind, sobbing and holding a shredded piece of bloody wool and skin, and fell down in the center square. His normally clean brown tunic was rumpled and caked with mud, the knotted rope that served as his belt missing. White whisps of hair hung loosely from under his monks-cap, the thin round cloth askew on the top of his head. His eyes were wild, peering all around the town square, then down at the bloody skin. He screamed and buried his face in the dirt. Town folk quickly surrounded him and helped him to his feet.
By Roger Stefani4 years ago in Fiction
