Fiction
The Shattered Oath Part 1
The dagger came without warning. Vaelin barely had time to twist aside as the blade hissed past his throat, grazing his skin with a cold, unnatural sharpness. The assassin moved like a wraith, black-cloaked and silent, vanishing into the shadows of the inn’s dimly lit room before he could land a counterstrike. Elira’s voice cut through the chaos—sharp, urgent.
By Richard Bailey10 months ago in Chapters
Businesswoman Chapter 89
Smells of fresh cut grass and hot dogs wafted through the air. After the first pitch, the seats vibrated with the resounding applause and cheers. Loreen and Lisa found themselves n a luxury box with team owner of the Wilmington Bankers, Josephus Timms.
By Skyler Saunders10 months ago in Chapters
CHAPTER I:The Well of Unspoken Melodies
At times, late into the night, just before dawn arrives, I find myself standing at the brink of the well behind my apartment, which is but the lame remains of a stone opening from which an unwelcome dampness and an inexplicable nostalgic odor egress. The woman I have fallen in love with exists in the silence of the well, although she has never visited, lived, or moved into this space. She could reside in the negative spaces: the interval between the drops of water, the shadow that hugs the bricks, the remembered laughter of a laugh I dreamed once. I have made a secret of her name even to myself.I met her in a jazz bar in Shinjuku, Tokyo, while the saxophone's vapid breath fogged the windows and the ice in my whiskey would freeze in time. She sat two barstools down from me and was reading from an old edition of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, her fingers slowly stroking the book's spine as if it were an artifact of divine significance. Her hair settled as a curtain of protection between us, and every time she turned a page, the sound rumbled like nearby thunder. I made myself order another drink that I didn't want, to remain comfortable to the warm silence while she had not left. She left before the set was over and left a hair clip, which was shaped like a small sparrow.I concealed it within my pocket, where it buzzed against my thigh like a caged cicada.The hairpin now rests upon my poor, sad desk next to an unwanted stack of letters that regretfully, I have never sent. Of an evening, when the pulse of the city becomes somewhat relaxed, I will press it to my ear and imagine I can hear something—a jazz standard played backward or a train running on tracks too far out of the imagination to fully comprehend. I write her about these oddities; “The well is deeper than it seems,” I scrawl once, and crumple the paper. The language fails. It lays claims to the canted shape of desire.The dreams started in October. I am trapped in a hotel with a winding labyrinth of a space; a corridor might break into the sky without stars, an elevator opening into a field of wheat, not a cloud, or an elevator. She is always there, just out of reach type of way; a shadow out of a window, and a voice, somewhere down a corridor. At one point, a cat, a black stray that seemed to be unchanged in my likeness was about to meet me like a time traveler. Flicking its tail like a pendulum, I made eye contact, finding my girl's reflection on the solid blackness of its iris. “You are chasing a ghost, you know,” it said, though it had no working mouth. “The question is, isn't that the point of the story, for you to chase a ghost?"
By LUCCIAN LAYTH10 months ago in Chapters
Dust and Resilience: The Hardships of Living Off-Grid in the High Desert. Content Warning.
The city had been a cage, its bars forged from fluorescent lights, endless deadlines, and a $1,800-a-month mortgage that felt like a noose around my neck. I was Keri, 25 years old, a marketing graduate with a gym-toned body from daily runs, but my spirit was wilting under the weight of a life I never wanted. Sixty-hour weeks in a glass tower, air conditioning humming at a sterile 68°F, and the constant buzz of notifications on my phone—it was a script I hadn't written, a life of marriage, mortgages, and monotony that society expected me to follow. But I felt the earth's pulse beneath the concrete, a whisper of something wilder, something truer. I was a nature witch, a druid in the making, my magic stirring in my blood, yearning for a place where I could learn from the land itself. The high desert called to me—a rugged expanse near the New Mexico border, 40 acres of sand and sage, close to Indian reservations and the haunting remnants of the Old Salt City ghost mine, where salt had once been king and spirits still lingered. I knew I had to go.The decision to leave wasn't easy. I'd been "successful" by the city's standards—a steady job pulling in $60k a year, a house I'd bought for $260k, a sedan worth $12k, and furniture that had cost me $1,500 (a couch for $150, a bed for $200, a TV for $300). I even had a guitar I'd played in college, worth $300, and a childhood ring, a small silver band with a moonstone, valued at $500. But those things were anchors, tying me to a life that felt like a slow death. I sold it all, liquidating everything in a whirlwind of garage sales, online listings, and tearful goodbyes. The house went for its full $260k, the sedan for $12k, the furniture for $1,500, the guitar for $300, and the ring for $500—netting me $274k after fees. I spent $15k of that on my new life: $10k for the 40 acres, $3k for a beat-up truck that could handle the desert's rough terrain, and $2k on gear to survive off-grid. The rest I banked, a safety net for the unknown, though I knew the desert wouldn't care about my savings. It would test me in ways I couldn't yet imagine.Packing up was an emotional gauntlet. I stood in my stripped-down house, the walls bare, the echoes of my old life bouncing off the hardwood floors. I packed my sketchbook, its pages filled with drawings of forests and moons, a reminder of the magic I'd always felt but never fully explored. The movers came for my cedar chest, a family heirloom I couldn't take, and I watched them carry it away, my throat tight with grief. That last night, I sat on the floor of my empty bedroom, clutching a photo of my mom, her smile a bittersweet anchor to the life I was leaving. I mailed her heirloom necklace back to her—a delicate chain with a jade pendant—knowing I couldn't carry its weight into the desert. I sobbed, the sound raw in the empty space, but as I wiped my tears, I felt a spark of something new: terror, yes, but also a fierce, wild aliveness I hadn't felt in years. I whispered a spell with the small quartz crystal I'd brought, a $10 talisman I'd bought at a metaphysical shop in the city. "Spirits of the earth, give me courage," I murmured, holding the crystal to my chest, feeling its cool energy pulse against my skin. The city faded as I drove away, the skyline shrinking in my rearview mirror, my heart pounding with the promise of freedom.The drive to the desert was long, the truck rattling over highways and then dirt roads, the air growing drier with every mile. I arrived at my 40 acres just as the sun hit its peak, the thermometer in my truck reading 105°F at 2 p.m. The land stretched out before me, a rugged expanse of mesquite and rocky dirt, dotted with sagebrush that shimmered in the heat. In the distance, I could see the crumbling ruins of the Old Salt City ghost mine, its salt-crusted remnants a testament to a boom-and-bust history, the air around it humming with the whispers of spirits. I stepped out of the truck, my boots crunching on the parched earth, and felt the land's energy surge through me—a sharp, ancient pulse that made my magic stir. I knelt, pressing my hands to the ground, and whispered a spell of welcome. "Spirits of this land, I am Keri, a witch seeking to learn from you. Accept me, guide me, teach me." The sagebrush rustled in response, its energy protective and wary, but I felt a tentative acceptance, a promise that the desert would be my teacher if I proved myself worthy.I'd packed smart, knowing I'd be far from stores, and as a witch, I'd brought tools for my craft. The truck bed held a 16-foot yurt ($1,200), a 150W solar panel ($150), a car battery for power, six 5-gallon water jugs ($30), a wood stove ($150), a sleeping bag ($50), a mylar blanket ($5), a first-aid kit ($20) with painkillers for cramps, a multi-tool ($25), a shovel ($15), a mallet ($15), a 12V pump ($80) for water, a Sawyer filter ($25), a cookpot ($10), a 50-lb bag of rice ($30), 20 lbs of beans ($25), 5 lbs of salt ($5), a fishing net ($5) for quail, a shotgun ($200) with birdshot, a crate of clothes (cotton tanks, wool socks, fleece, $100), a yoga mat ($10), and a crate of personal and witchy items—my journal ($5), a solar-powered speaker ($20), a discreet vibrator ($30), tampons, pads, a menstrual cup ($30), a hot water bottle ($10), a photo of my mom ($0), a small altar cloth ($5), a quartz crystal ($10), sage bundles ($10), and a copper bowl for offerings ($15). The total came to $2,680, plus the land and truck, a small fortune for a new life, but I knew it would take more than money to survive here.That first night was a brutal introduction to the desert's extremes. I set up a temporary tent, the canvas flapping in a 35 mph wind that kicked up swirling dust, the air thick with the scent of sage and sand. By 1 a.m., the temperature had plummeted to 65°F, frost creeping over the tent flap, my breath fogging in the air as I huddled in my sleeping bag with Luna, my dog, her warmth a small comfort against the cold. I heard a coyote's snarl in the distance, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine, but as a witch, I knew the Paiute lore: Coyotes were spirit messengers, their howls carrying warnings and guidance. I whispered a spell with my sage bundle, lighting it with a match and letting the smoke curl around me, offering it to the wind. "Spirits of the coyote, speak to me, guide me," I murmured, feeling their energy shift, a message of caution but also of welcome.The desert didn't care about my strength, my degrees, or my womanhood—it tested every part of me, from my cramping body to my restless heart. My first period here had hit like a sandstorm, cramps doubling me over at 110°F, no pharmacy for miles. I'd brought a six-month supply of tampons and pads ($50), a menstrual cup ($30) for sustainability, and a hot water bottle ($10) for relief, but the pain was relentless, amplified by the heat. I brewed sage tea from foraged plants, a Paiute remedy I'd read about, the bitter taste grounding me as I sipped it, doing yoga stretches on my mat—child's pose, breathing through the ache, channeling the desert's energy to ease my pain. I whispered a spell with my quartz, "Spirits of the earth, soothe my body, lend me your strength," and felt a faint warmth spread through me, the land's magic a small mercy.The solitude was a double-edged sword—freedom I craved, but loneliness that gnawed at my soul. At 70°F, I carved stick figures into a piece of mesquite wood, imbuing them with protective charms, their small forms a comfort against the vastness of the desert. I brought a journal to pour out my fears, writing by lantern light, the words spilling onto the page: "I'm so alone, but I'm free. Is this what I wanted?" I played music on my solar-powered speaker, old playlists that reminded me of friends, of dancing, of feeling alive, the notes a lifeline in the silence. I talked to Luna, her warmth grounding me as I sobbed into her fur, missing human touch, the ache as real as thirst. I cast a spell with sage smoke to lift my spirits, the desert's magic a balm for my soul, its energy whispering, "You are enough."My body, at 25, was fit and humming with energy, amplified by the desert's rawness—sweat on my skin at 110°F, the wind's howl at 70°F like a lover's whisper. My high sex drive was a challenge in this isolation, the ache as real as thirst, and there was no one to share it with—except for the thought of Damien, my neighbor, a were-panther I hadn't yet met but had heard of, his primal power haunting my dreams. I'd brought a small, discreet vibrator, solar-charged, and used it under the stars, the release grounding me, but I channeled the rest into my magic, dancing under the moon to honor the earth, my body a conduit for the desert's power. I imagined Damien watching me, his amber eyes glowing with feline intensity, his growl a spell that could bind me, a fantasy that made my heart race as I moved through the night.I hadn't met Damien yet, but I'd heard whispers of him—a were-panther on the next plot, 2 miles away, a man of primal power who'd lived off-grid for years. I imagined him: towering, muscular, his eyes glowing with the intensity of his panther spirit, his growl a spell that could draw me in. I wondered if he'd sense the witch in me, if he'd feel the same pull I felt just thinking of him, our magics entwining in the desert's wild embrace. I journaled about him that night, the lantern flickering as I wrote, "He's a were-panther, a warrior, a man of primal magic. I want to feel his growl against my skin, his strength around me, his magic entwined with mine." The thought of him was a spark in the darkness, a promise of connection in this lonely land.The desert was a crucible of relentless sun, sub-zero nights, ceaseless winds, swirling dust storms, and a wildness that spared no one, but it was also rich with minerals and lore, its plants and animals my allies in survival and magic. I spotted milky quartz chunks scattered across the ground, their energy amplifying my spells, and a turquoise vein near the mine, its protective power perfect for charms and trade ($20/oz raw). I pocketed a piece of turquoise, a talisman for my journey, feeling its cool energy against my skin. The Paiute legend of the Sun and Moon—siblings who fought, creating the desert's temperature swings—echoed in my mind as I whispered to Luna, "We're in their battleground now," feeling the land's ancient pulse, my magic stirring in response.The desert was my teacher, its lessons harsh but true, and I was ready to learn. I layered for the 40°F swings—cotton tank for the day, wool socks and fleece for the night, a mylar blanket to trap heat. For my cramps, I kept my hot water bottle filled, stretching daily to ease the tension, whispering spells to the earth for relief. For my magic, I greeted the land each morning, offering sage to the wind, listening to its whispers, feeling its energy guide me. I was Keri, a witch in the wild, and this was my new beginning—a life unplugged, untamed, where I could find myself in the dust, learn the desert's magic, and maybe, just maybe, find a love as wild as the land itself.
By Randy (TheShiftingBard)10 months ago in Chapters
LHS Class of 01 The Reunion
On the other side of town we now see Emily and her husband, former football hero Marc getting ready for the tenth year reunion. They had gotten married two years and a half after graduating from Lincoln High and Emily dyed her hair back to dark brown in mid 2002 after sporting it in raven black which she had while being a sophomore. At that point, she began wearing baggy black pants, t-shirts with different wordings, a black trench coat, black Timberlands, a small nose ring and dyed raven black hair. Many of her classmates saw her a freak even before her own makeover during the summer before. She mainly did not like the cheerleading team especially Valerie and their fight did not help matters. Emily felt that things would never change. But in 2002 she traded that style for fitted jeans, dress shirts, sneakers and switched her hoop nose ring for a small diamond one before she stopped wearing them completely by the year after. She is getting dressed for the reunion as her phone rings and she quickly answers it.
By Forest Green10 months ago in Chapters
Businesswoman Chapter 87
The steps to the State Senate allowed Loreen and Lisa’s mind to work as if they exercised. When they reached the doors they exhaled and laughed. Then, their demeanor became even more morose than mourners. The security guard checked their bags and let them keep their belongings. When they found the office of Mather Dale the office assistant had already let him know they had been en route. Dale rose to his feet.
By Skyler Saunders10 months ago in Chapters
Between Two Realms
Chapter 1: The Maiden of Eldoria In the heart of the human kingdom of Eldoria, there lived a maiden whose beauty was said to rival the dawn. Her name was Elira, a young woman of unmatched grace, with eyes as deep as the midnight sky and hair that shimmered like woven gold. The people of Eldoria often whispered that the gods had blessed her, for no other mortal possessed such ethereal charm. Elira lived a simple yet fulfilling life, tending to her family’s modest trade. She was a merchant, selling finely crafted fabrics and delicate jewelry. Despite her beauty, she was known not for vanity but for her kindness and intelligence. Suitors from near and far sought her hand, yet she turned them all away, believing that love should not be rushed but found in its own time. The young King Aldric, who had only recently ascended the throne after his father’s passing, was among those who admired her. His rule was still fragile, and though he had a kingdom to govern, his heart found itself drawn to Elira. He watched her from afar, entranced by the way she carried herself with quiet confidence. She was not of noble blood, yet she seemed more regal than any princess he had met. Meanwhile, in the unseen realm beyond the human world, another pair of eyes watched her just as intently—Kaelen, the newly crowned Spirit King. Kaelen’s kingdom was one of mist and whispers, where spirits roamed unseen and ancient forces governed all. He had long been fascinated by the human world, often crossing the veil to observe their ways. And from the moment he laid eyes on Elira, he knew he wanted her. Not as a fleeting curiosity, but as his queen. But where Aldric sought love, Kaelen saw possession. Where Aldric wished to win her heart, Kaelen intended to take it by any means necessary. Chapter 2: The Spirit King’s Obsession Kaelen had watched Elira for years, his presence unseen, his desire growing with each passing day. Unlike mortals, spirits did not age as humans did, and time had only deepened his fascination. He had studied her, learned the sound of her laughter, the rhythm of her steps, the way the sunlight kissed her skin. She was unlike any woman he had ever encountered, and for the first time in his immortal existence, he longed for something beyond his world. But spirits and humans were never meant to coexist. The realm of spirits was a place of shadows and illusions, bound by laws older than time itself. The kings of his kind were forbidden from interfering with the mortal world beyond mere observation. Yet Kaelen was not like his ancestors. He had inherited the throne after his father’s sudden demise, and unlike the rulers before him, he believed that rules were meant to be broken. One evening, as twilight bathed the human world in golden hues, Kaelen took on a human form. His silver eyes dimmed to a deep gray, his pale skin warmed to the color of sun-kissed bronze, and his long, flowing hair darkened to the shade of midnight. Cloaked in secrecy, he stepped into the marketplace of Eldoria, blending in among the mortals. He approached Elira’s stall, where she sold her precious fabrics and trinkets. She greeted him with a smile, the same way she did with all her customers, unaware of the danger that lurked beneath his charming façade. “I would like to purchase some of your finest silks,” he said, his voice smooth like flowing water. Elira, unaware of his true nature, nodded and began showing him her wares. Kaelen listened to her speak, enthralled by the warmth in her tone. He watched the delicate way her fingers moved as she handled the fabrics, and he felt an unfamiliar sensation within him—impatience. He had waited long enough. After selecting a generous amount of goods, Kaelen spoke again. “I am a traveler from a distant land. I do not carry coin, but I assure you, I will pay you handsomely. Meet me at the edge of the Eldermere Forest at midnight, and I shall give you more than what your wares are worth.” Elira hesitated. She had never done business in such a manner before. Something about the stranger unsettled her, though she could not quite place why. But the promise of payment was too great to ignore—her family needed the money. Reluctantly, she agreed. Kaelen smiled, knowing that the first step of his plan had fallen perfectly into place. Chapter 3: A Price for Love As the night deepened, a thick mist curled through Eldermere Forest, wrapping around the ancient trees like ghostly fingers. The moon cast an eerie glow upon the path as Elira approached the meeting place. She clutched her shawl tightly around her shoulders, her heart pounding with unease. She had debated whether to come at all. There was something unsettling about the stranger—his eyes, his voice, the way he had watched her. But the promise of wealth had outweighed her fear. She needed the money to care for her aging mother, to expand her business, to secure a better future. A cold wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it a voice. “You came.” Elira turned sharply. Kaelen stood before her, his presence seeming almost unreal in the moonlight. He was no longer dressed as a common traveler but wore robes woven with threads that shimmered like liquid silver. His appearance was impossibly perfect—his sharp features, his commanding stance, his eyes that gleamed like polished steel. “Where is my payment?” she asked, forcing herself to stand firm. Kaelen smiled, his expression unreadable. “Come with me, and I will give you more than you could ever imagine.” Elira hesitated. “Come with you where?” “To my kingdom,” he said, his voice smooth and persuasive. “I am no ordinary man, Elira. I am a king. I rule a land far beyond this one—a place of wonders, of riches beyond comprehension. You need only step forward, and everything you have ever wanted will be yours.” Something inside her screamed no, but curiosity and greed warred against her instincts. A king? If he truly was royalty, then he had the power to change her life forever. She could live in a palace, never have to struggle again. “How do I know you are telling the truth?” she asked. Kaelen extended a hand. “Let me show you.” The air around him shimmered, and behind him, a portal of swirling darkness opened between the trees. A gust of wind surged from it, carrying scents unlike anything Elira had ever known—exotic, intoxicating, forbidden. Her breath caught In her throat. This is madness. This is impossible. “You have nothing to fear,” Kaelen assured her. “Step through, and all shall be revealed.” Elira’s pulse pounded in her ears. She had come for money, not for magic. Not for this. But the temptation pulled at her, an irresistible force she did not understand. She took a deep breath. And then—she stepped through.
By adebayo omobolarinwa10 months ago in Chapters
Shadow’s Veil – Part 5
The world lurched. Vaelin felt weightless, suspended in the rift between realms. Shadows curled around him like living tendrils, whispering in a language he didn’t understand, their voices slipping beneath his skin like threads of ice. Then—light. Blinding, searing, overwhelming.
By Richard Bailey10 months ago in Chapters
Before It Ends. Content Warning.
Then I felt it... the light switch... fear embraced my soul as I slowly moved my fingertip upwards along the switch. There was still no response from my mother as I continued to call for her while my fingertip hesitated to complete the light switch flip.
By Luna Verity10 months ago in Chapters
