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Knotted Roots - Part 2
My sweat-soaked and mud-stained shirt draped over Spot’s saddle, as Grace and I walked with our arms linked. The burnt amber glow behind the mountains quickly faded, and the starry night and full moon illuminated our dirt trail. For a few minutes, we walked silently, both of us keeping a curious eye on the sky, as if hoping this moment would never end. “You know, I don’t think I mentioned this before, but…” Grace hesitated, a small smile shadowed by the brim of her hat, which was pulled upwards as her eyes watched our boots. “It’s really nice having you back.” She stated, a slight hint of relief in her voice, peering upwards towards me to meet my eyes, as I looked over at her. Unable to really respond, I smiled at her as the stubble from my beard prickled my cheeks. I wish I were here because I truly wanted to be here, not out of remorse from a dying father. But what kind of son would I be if I allowed his legacy to die, to let him die alone? Ever since mom passed, he was always focused on the ranch. I grew weary of it all and wanted to experience life outside of this country lifestyle. Would Grace understand that? Should I tell her? Deciding to shake off the uneasiness, I decided to push that conversation off for another time. “Yeah, Grace, it’s good to be home.” Her eyes sparkled under the night sky, lulling me into her warmth. I placed my hand on her arm, as if assuring her. “Remember when we would run through the wildflowers?” She began, “You mean, chasing you for stealing my lasso?” With a shared moment of laughter she continued, “Okay, I may have borrowed…” “Borrowed? Is that what we call it now?” I teased. “Okay, first off, I at least know how to use a lasso!” Her snarky recoil caused a shift in me, a warmth in my center. The truth is, I missed Grace, but I didn’t miss the painful memories from losing my mom and now my ill father. “Second,” She continued, and her voice faded as I became consumed by her witty playfulness, the way her dimples revealed her bluff. “You think you can lasso better than me?!” I asked her, my voice low, husky. We came to a stop, my eyes challenging her, my smile welcoming. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were presenting a challenge.” Grace had moved in a way where we were facing each other, her voice low, alluring as her accent still thick. She leaned inwards and shifted upwards from her tiptoes. “You know I love a good competition.” The way her smile grew and the feeling of pure electricity between us intensified. Tucking a loose blonde curl behind Grace’s ear, I cupped her chin in my rough hand, her skin soft and radiant. “Jasper…” The breathlessness in her voice was being restrained by something, “Yes, my kitten…” My eyes darkened, my mouth dry. “I…” “Grace!” A male’s voice rang out, cutting the tension between us, a voice I didn’t recognize. My face, shadowed and hidden by my hat brim, hid my annoyance from Grace, a moment to adjust before she could see. “Who’s that little kitten?” Her head hung low and then upwards with a reassuring smile, one that was almost apologetic in a way, “That’s uh, well…” “There you are, Grace!” A lean, muscled man came running up, his jeans dark and clean, his boots without a scuff, his blonde wavy hair tucked behind his ears, a loose white button-down shirt tucked behind an oversized belt buckle. He swept by me, embracing her in his arms, spinning her around as her feet lifted from the ground. “I thought something had happened to you…” “Greg, I…I’m just fine, and I can stand on my own; you needn’t sweep me up like that.” Grace clamored with poise and elegance as she charmingly demanded to be put down. This Greg, whoever he was, doesn’t appear to be a cowboy; he’s too clean-cut, too polished. “Oh! I’m sorry, man, I was just so caught up seeing my little sunshine here, I lost my manners. The name’s Greg, Greg Combs.” He extended his hand, reluctantly, I shook his hand. It was like waving a limp noodle, as my firm hand squeezed his as if silently warning him. “Jasper Black.” My tone was sharp like a blade. “Well, Grace, it looks like you’ll find your way from here,” I said as I gave Spot a few pats. Tipping my hat to Grace respectfully, I walked off towards my porch, digging my hands in my pockets, not looking back. Of course she had a boyfriend; hell, he could be her husband for all I know! I don't want to ruin her any more than I already have. I realized as my boots thudded across the wooden porch, I left more than just my father that day. I left her.
By Sibley Shamra4 months ago in Chapters
Businesswoman Chapter 257
Lisa Conway sipped coffee. The bitter notes danced on her tongue. She peered at the number of subscribers she currently amassed. five million users in nine months. She wondered to herself about whether she would be rich from being famous, or famous for being rich. She banished the thought and went back to business.
By Skyler Saunders4 months ago in Chapters
Businesswoman Chapter 241
Inside the new company, there existed no home office. The headquarters remained a PO box in Wilmington. Lisa allowed the users to power the site. Each amount of scrolling added to the revenue. No ads popped up on her site. She had gained a million subscribers in ten days and the number kept scaling upward.
By Skyler Saunders4 months ago in Chapters
Jayla Mile
1. The Magic If If you were to see her from the fifth floor of a downtown apartment building, a dark figure passing strange and floating mirage-like amidst the broken-brick chimneys and gravel-topped roofs within your range of vision, you might only see a flurry of black and fading garments fluttering in the wind. But if she were to look up, you might also see, through green spider plant spindles and a rain-drizzled window, the blue and sorrow of her eyes. And if you were Samuel Cornerstone you’d have a sixth sense about this dark angel, this saviour of your soul - St. Jayla of the Lilac Circus - and you would pray she’d come to you finally and completely, and when at last she did, you’d take her by the hand and go paint the town Rose Madder.
By Marie Wilson5 months ago in Chapters
#1 Why I Studied Modern Journalism: From “Shy Kid” to Explorer
Growing up, I was the quiet one. I was the kid more likely to listen than to speak up. I was told I was not ‘journalist material.’ Journalists were bold, and they chased stories, asked hard questions, and were generally pushy. I was labeled shy and became so. At 18 years old, that seemed to rule out my secret dream. I blocked it out, forgot about it, and decided to cross off the fields I wasn’t made for when it came time to choose a university.
By Gabriela Trofin-Tatár5 months ago in Chapters
Doughnuts & Feelings
***Character name change. Selena is now Mikaela, and is of both English and Swedish decent.*** It’s now Wednesday, and I’ve finally stopped having dreams about the weekend. For the last few nights, Sheila the camel has been incepting my dreams like Freddy Krueger, giving me nightmares. And yet, somehow, I still wake up with a boner. It’s confusing. It would be gross if I didn’t remember the real star of my dreams before they became a nightmare, Aisling, who, like Beatrice, has officially ghosted me. So I’m back to dreaming of Mikaela. It’s probably safer that way.
By Simon George5 months ago in Chapters
Businesswoman Chapter 211
Loreen never attended a faith-based service. In her forty-one years, she had been to weddings and funerals but not a full Sunday service. This moment did not change that constant trajectory, her six-year-old son Bonham asked her, “Mommy, why don’t we go to church?”
By Skyler Saunders6 months ago in Chapters
The Conduit: Chapter 14
Anu made it to the bottom of the wall first. The climb hadn’t been as bad as she imagined. It was Jonas who struggled, and he was still only halfway down. As she waited, Anu used her light to get a good look at their surroundings. Things were more amazing than imagined. The entire world they dropped into was something that shouldn’t exist.
By Jason Ray Morton 6 months ago in Chapters
Specter of La Sirene del Crescente
I rubbed the inky residue off the tip of my finger with a napkin and pursed my lip casually. The commission was done, but something seemed missing – and I knew it was more than the absence of my artist signature in the right-hand bottom corner. I narrowed my eyes and continued to peer at the image I’d created – the morphing edges of grey, black, and white somehow seeming to shift across the page as I stared back at it.
By Sai Marie Johnson6 months ago in Chapters
