Samuel Fletcher
Bio
Dream BIG, fly higher! Samuel Fletcher is a day dreamer who gazes upon a vision where humanity can live in peace. His main topics in writing are of philosophical practices, plays and novels often centred around love and peace.
Stories (10)
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Movin' On Out
10 CC’s, “Not In Love.”, has converted to the anthem of the hollow sinking sun, while the numerous, trek produced, blisters divulge themselves and progressively cover my throbbing feet. This agonising affliction synchronises with the rollercoaster of rage, accompanied by sorrow, as my intellect scrutinises over the details of the hours recently termed past. With diminutive sunshine left to bask in, I gaze rearwards to the sunset, foolishly mistaken for a sunrise, of two sunsets ago. Tonight, was the night as well… The entire motivation for this ridiculous heart piercing trip… The night of the Aurora Australis.
By Samuel Fletcher5 years ago in Fiction
Beyond The Universe...
The lone words that phase in and out of my consciousness are the perception bending lyrics of the since disbanded musical masters of the sixties, “Images of fractured light flitter before me like a billion globes…” All this occurred within, the four cornered prison cell of, my being as I observed the motion of the glowing orbs rise and fall as they breathed. The earths, dim lighted infinite expanding, celestial sea whispers the wisdom of the timeworn sages of yore, though the whispering’s meaning are beyond my comprehension; nevertheless, it was made known to me as I voyage across the universe.
By Samuel Fletcher5 years ago in Fiction
To The Stars
Our eyes intertwined as our mouths distance shortened; could this be it? Could this be love? What of her request? A mortal achieving such a feat, it doesn’t sound plausible and yet for her, all obstacles appear frail, and impossibilities are simply hints pointing towards an exotic undiscovered horizon. Her wish in the face of romance is merely a wall for love to climb. For her I’ll make the impossible possible even if her task is… bottling stars within a jar… Oh, no.
By Samuel Fletcher5 years ago in Fiction
Who's That Venus...
At the sun’s too enthusiastic greeting I am transformed into a zombie with my urr-ing groans. My arms extend the bed’s blankets into wings to shield my baggaged eyes from the unwelcome light breaking through the hotels window. “Shut the curtains!” I barked towards my wickedly optimistic mother. Optimism, who needs to see the light of day when the darkness of night holds our dreams? “Rise and shine.” Who is she saying that too anyway? Me or the sun, because the sun has risen, and I am incapable of shinning. Last night’s tiresome adventure already has me grieved with Tasmania. Sun, why do you bother to reveal your face? Nobodies eyes can tolerate you anyway.
By Samuel Fletcher5 years ago in Fiction
Stump In The Night
Ah fresh air, countryside, and a promise of witnessing one of life’s true marvels. Nice and simple. No wizards, no flickering fires and definitely nothing bizarre lingering around by ever so slightly escaping my peripheral sight. A well-earned slice of relaxation heading my way without the faintest possibility of abnormalities to follow foot. Four days, that’s all it took for me to seek refuge from the chaotic nature of Melbourne. Tasmania, here I come.
By Samuel Fletcher5 years ago in Fiction
The Wizard's Game
Where was I? Let’s see, store ban… past that… bumbling crackpot Wizard… no, no... hallucinogen mist… boring… floating dingo head, dancing weirdo… I’m missing something! Oh yeah, hells decent… So here we are a bleak trail into the belly of well… not really a beast; perhaps it would be better if I knew what I was entering as you know the wisdom of what’s often quoted, “Better the devil you know than the one you don’t.”
By Samuel Fletcher5 years ago in Fiction
Weirdo Alley
Guys, it’s worse… way worse… I am under my head, no, no, that’s not right; I am way under my foot; my, my, foot is over my face, ugh! You get the picture; I have been captured and held against my will; forced to complete in a series of deeming and questionable challenges; you knew what I was trying to say. My captors, I don’t hear you ask but presume, a group of terrorsome mystics. Ewww… *Shudders*
By Samuel Fletcher5 years ago in Fiction
Welcome To... Melburn?
Well, I've gone an' done it. Set the whole world ablaze and all for an ice cream, talk about fire and ice! How was I supposed to know the machinery had a limit? A cool down time, for a frozen cream machine, like seriously? They often say, 'One small desire burns a fire.' but somehow, I do not believe this is what they meant. I have to fix this, "Siri, how do you stop a blaze from consuming a city you just moved to?"
By Samuel Fletcher5 years ago in Fiction
My Fault
Dammit, not again. Get away from me! My pants become treadmills to my collapsing lungs, a restless sensation grips at the chambers of my over functioning blood pumper, how are these god-forsaken monstrosities Hermes fast? The throbbing of my arm increases as the bound and leathered tree becomes a weight against my vivacious cheetah sprint, my arms constrained against their will to violently swing in gorilla like style. Most annoyingly is my promise that has come lose from its dead treed prison, mimicking my crazed thrashing motion. I take my eyes off smoke city, in the length of time, matching an ants figure, to reseal the escaped convict, when a rock bests my foot in a match of rock, foot, pavement. The worst part of that battle was I suffered twice; the foot out duelled by rock and my head out hardened by pavement. Crap! Their shadows shift to looming figures, with Perseus’s will I turn away, compassing my eyes to point towards my journal. Slithering along, my hand chokes the chain once again, my legs tightly wound as an eager Jack that waits to burst from his entrapment. Crrrcckk… My man-made feet pulverise the gravel, leaving whatever the hell one decides to name those beasts, behind my person, and my locket that broke free from its former cell. Double crap, I knew I should not have taken those laxatives! Are the mechanisms of my mind in need of a mechanic, for a mind made wall prevents me from advancing. I cannot leave her. Dammit to hell! A gear change has the gravel repented in its place, my tiger stools pounce upon their eyed-up prey. Where my legs land, my eyes wander elsewhere, they are now way too close for human comfort, like a lion behind a rusted wired cage; I dread their daggered bite. If only I were Pinocchio, then someone could Meister my wooden arms; I am ensnared by peering into their spidered revealing windows, their inner house a crimson décor.
By Samuel Fletcher5 years ago in Futurism
