Violet Fugere
Bio
Words are powerful magic. When I'm using my magic to weave stories, and I'm at my best, even I get lost and escape reality for a while.
Stories (3)
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Weaving Dreams
Weaving and cutting, threads not matching up correctly as a knot is tied, though I will not start over. A metal frame, colored string crisscrossing across empty space, pull tight, tie a knot, cut, keep going. Gifts are best when they are made by hand, no matter what they are. Something from the heart and sprinkled with a little soul. Another loose thread cut and removed from the rest of the others, and I admire my work. There are a few crooked knots, though that’s alright. Imperfections make art, and humans themselves are art because of their imperfections, and as art often is a gift, so is human life.
By Violet Fugere5 years ago in Humans
Old Man Viking Vs. The Kraken
My grandfather tells me many stories when I visit him, tales of Vikings and forgotten legends. Some of them are funny, like how Loki once tricked Thor into attempting to lift the Midgard Serpent, a gargantuan beast that encircles the entire Earth and bites its own tail (keeping the planet in balance and held together), which he had disguised as a kitten. One of the most interesting tales is the story of Odin and his two ravens, Huginn and Munnin, that would circle the Earth and report back to him every day.
By Violet Fugere5 years ago in Horror
The Cuallacht of Destryn
I can hear their snarling and barking as I push myself to go faster. I can barely breathe. Branches snap under my feet as I race through the forest, fleeing the pack of wild dogs growing closer and closer. I hear thunder crash overhead, and I wonder if it truly is rumbling thunder or the blood pulsing in my ears. I’m lost now, jumping over fallen trees and ducking under low branches, and just as I feel there will be no way out of here, I find myself in a clearing. I barely register the yellowing grass in a semicircle around the cathedral or the faded white crosses and cracked grey stones around it. All I know is there are hounds at my heels, a storm blowing in, and I need to find shelter immediately. Without thinking, I throw myself against the large, hand-carved doors. Thankfully they open with little resistance, and I stumble inside with the doors thudding shut behind me. I lean back against them with all my strength, gasping for breath as the dogs try to claw their way in. The argument with my father earlier today takes over my thoughts.
By Violet Fugere5 years ago in Horror
