Tamara McNeill
Stories (11)
Filter by community
The Prophecy
“It can see me.” “Don’t be ridiculous… no one sees us. That’s the point of camouflage.” The red dragon slowly turned its long jewel-colored neck to eye the black dragon flying next to her. Her nostrils flared, and she huffed a short quick breath through her nose. Smoke rings rushed forth and circled above her head for a moment before vanishing. Her ruby eyes narrowed, and she clenched her teeth, “I am acutely aware of how camouflage works. Do not patronize me!” she growled lowly through her dagger-like teeth with an emphasis on “not.” She turned her gaze back to the colorful earth below and watched for a moment longer before adding, “I know what I see, and it sees me,” her tone only slightly less menacing.
By Tamara McNeill3 years ago in Fiction
The Chronicles of the Eyinar
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. At least that’s what the town’s people will tell you. The truth is, we’ve been here for centuries. My people, the Eyinar, were the first to come to this area. My ancestors settled in the Halcyon Mountains in the north. The mountain trails, the caverns, and the caves within the granite mountains were all created over centuries by us.
By Tamara McNeill4 years ago in Fiction
Birth of the Einar
The old man stood in front of the fire. The flickering blaze gave the old face an other-worldly appearance, magnifying the wrinkles that marred the weathered features and lengthening the shadows under his serpentine eyes. His hair, now gray, was shaved close except for a length of hair down the middle of his head that was tightly braided, as was the custom of the men of his people. His gray-blue eyes, which have seen over a century of this world, peered out to those that sat surrounding him and the fire. His people, his heart swelled at the thought, HIS people that stared, watched, waited for a story to be told. A tale that they all had heard before. A legend that never got old. The old man cleared his throat; a reverent silence fell overall. The old man’s voice, strong and loud, sounded from his barreled chest as the story, their story, their beginning, their truth, began. The fire snapped, the audience’s gaze shifted to stare into the fire as the forms began to take shape. The story plays out in the smoke and flames of the crackling fire.
By Tamara McNeill4 years ago in Fiction
The Fog
The fog came rolling over the small black pond covering the surface of the glassy water with tendrils of gray haze. Fingers of fog fondled the water’s surface as if searching for a way in. The fog seemed to block out all sound as easily as it did sight. No slurping of water upon the edges of the land can be heard. No creaking of the raft that floated lazily upon the water. No cricket trying to impress his mate. It was as if the fog had rolled in and claimed the inky pond for itself.
By Tamara McNeill4 years ago in Fiction
One Summer Night
When I was seven, my father killed my mother. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking it was an accident, maybe he blames himself for her death out of some overabundance of love and chivalrous need to protect her. But it’s nothing like that. When I say my father killed my mother, I mean he wrapped his monstrous hands around her throat and squeezed. I remember because I was there.
By Tamara McNeill4 years ago in Fiction
The Calling
Isla kicked her lean body through the salty ocean waves. She enjoyed the feel of the water gliding over her pale skin as she moved, her long mahogany hair flowing behind her like seaweed that tickled across her back as she surged forward. She passed above the coral that flourished in a rainbow of colors, over the fish that made that coral their home. She stayed submerged for as long as she could until her lungs began to burn and beg for breath. Finally, she kicked upwards, breaking the surface of the water with her head and taking a deep breath of the morning air.
By Tamara McNeill4 years ago in Fiction
12 Months
12 months. It’s been a year since I said goodbye to you. When I drove you to the airport, I drove as slow as I possibly could. I know you knew what I was doing, delaying your departure, but you didn’t say anything. You just held my free hand, intertwining our fingers and gripping tightly. We talked about the baby that grew within me, tossing names back and forth as I drove. I could feel you watching me, when I glanced at you, you would just be smiling as you watched me.
By Tamara McNeill4 years ago in Fiction
The Chemistry of Baking
2 Cups Sugar Sweetness. When most people think of cakes, they think of sweet. The idea that sugar is the main flavor in a cake is a misnomer. Sugar does much more than just add a little sweetness. The chemistry of sugar in a cake goes much deeper than satisfying your sweet tooth, it keeps things moist and soft. It works the same way in relationships.
By Tamara McNeill4 years ago in Fiction
Voices From the Apocalypse
When the sun goes down in the desert, the heat goes with it. I remember reading that a desert can go from 100 degrees Fahrenheit to 40 as that fiery ball set. I moved to the northern Nevada desert several years before the world ended. It often takes a moment to remember what life was like before: Before the riots, before the chaos, before the end. The memory of time and events seem like another life, and I guess it is. I miss my house and its temperature control. I miss my husband. I miss the way he made me laugh. There is not much to laugh about anymore. It’s been just over two years since I last saw him alive. I don’t even have a picture, but that is common. Most people have their pictures on their phones or the cloud - phones ran out of power months ago and the cloud no longer exists. I can still see him when I close my eyes; his blue eyes smiling at me. His dark hair was kept just long enough to start curling on the ends. The picture in my memory fades every day. I can see it blurring. The edges of my recollections of him swirling at the edges like smokey tendrils that are silently eating at my favored memories. I’m terrified of the day that I close my eyes to see him and he’s no longer there.
By Tamara McNeill5 years ago in Fiction
