Adventure
Rottenbird
“I am Rottenbird!” the old crusty barn owl roared, rattling the iron confine around his neck. The rest of this barn owl’s friends have already been devoured as evidenced by the empty cages around him. “The Charles Darwin and his brood of masticators ate everyone I knew,” the old barn owl recalled, taking a lean between the bars of his prison. “Poor Puma went with a side of mint jelly and fingerlings. The twin iguanas, Pearl and Emma met their maker like the armadillo as an amuse-bouche that led to the Charles Darwin’s favorite aperitif, tortoise soup.” Rottenbird tries to blink his eyes to erase these memories but visions of smooth pasty hands popping agoutis heads into mouths like stuffed mushrooms flooded his mind. In an attempt to regain his composure, Rottenbird puffs his chest and joaks, “But it will be I, the indigestible one, the destructor of stomachs, the sentinel of the gastrointestinal who causes my captor to drop anchor and rip him from his adventurous tongue.” The owl added, “I arrived in Cambridge in the middle of the night. One moment I was soaring the England night sky and the next, I was scrupulously being man-handled into this ferrous yoke.” Rottenbird twists his head violently shouting, “Chouette au Masque de Fer!” Rottenbird goes limp for a moment. He stares across the room to muffled chatter behind a large oak door. “It took this wise old owl only one night to figure out what this place is, for the vapors of former friends climb into my cage like ivy. Their memory still clings with the intensity of St. Elmo’s fire hugging a ghost ship.” Rottenbird wildly jerks the inviolable lock of the cage with his beak. Suddenly the oak doors open.
By Kevin G. Cox4 years ago in Fiction
Becoming
Chapter 1 My feet pound on the wet earth, matched by the drumbeat of my heart. Low-hanging branches whip and slice my face, stinging in the tears rolling down my cheeks. RUN! My entire body cries in terror as my feet slip in the thick layer of decaying leaves covering black soil. The slip happens in slow motion, the possibility of debilitating disaster displayed in my mind’s eye with striking clarity. But I have the resiliency of youth, and it is only a momentary delay, a terrifying glimpse of failure.
By Rachael Lindsey4 years ago in Fiction
Day Fades
"Hurry! We should of been home already!" Theo shouted toward his brother. Two voles frantically scurried through the tall grass. It rained earlier that morning and the tall fescue grass was weighted by the drops of water that were left. This made it difficult to rush home as the water would hit both their faces continually blurring the view. The sun was at a set, warning any prey to get home.
By Mariah Hunt4 years ago in Fiction
Runaway
When I was small I would crave the silence of the woods. Inside there was all the fighting. My parents with one another. My mother battling her demons. My brother telling my mother he would not go to school, would not do his homework, would not take the dog out.
By Kat Averyheart4 years ago in Fiction
Graffiti
Crumbled brick and chipped mortar littered the ground of the library and mazed through the sodden books and shelves that were now turned to shrapnel. Vanilla, and sweet grass perfumed the air along with the musk of dirt and gunpowder. The library used to be a refuge for Nero when he was a boy. Now, it was a refuge again, and a makeshift hideout in his attempt to survive. He wasn’t a soldier; he was different, and his strengths weren’t of the physical type. He had a mind that many would envy, however, others saw him as damaged.
By Myiah L Bengston4 years ago in Fiction
Hunting Carina
Chapter 1 Her long legs pumped as she ran down the old country road. She could feel her body falling into a steady rhythm and her mind began to wonder. She loved it out here. There wasn’t a soul for miles and with it no pressure from anyone, not her coach or her mother. She felt it was the only place she could truly be herself.
By Julie D Bergman4 years ago in Fiction
Cyril's Story
When it was a cash only society, and cash was hard to come by, especially in the country, a time of people physically working harder, needing and having less, a time when lives were controlled by season, and community. Folks lived in houses built by an earlier generation, and passed to the next. One generation lived pretty much as their parents before them.
By Judith Baxter4 years ago in Fiction
An Unlikely Pair
I grew up like any other domestic cat. I was served fresh water, food, and all the affection for which any animal on earth would beg. Mrs. Moore, an elderly woman who was in desperate need of a companion after the death of her husband, adopted me, and for seven years I lived under her protection. Six months ago, however, she suffered a stroke and with her death, I lost the only family I had. I was the only one there for her, too; she was dead for two days before her only son bothered to visit. After her funeral, it seemed the son was more concerned with his mother’s belongings than with the physical loss of her. It didn’t take long for him to settle in the house, selling everything valuable and abandoning the rest. The custom picture that hung on the living room wall and featured me and Mrs. Moore curled up jointly on the couch was my sole reminder of her, and when her son threw out the painting and replaced it with an ornamental antique shotgun and several hunting pictures, my lifelong home seemed alien and uncomfortable.
By Christopher Russell4 years ago in Fiction
RETURN OF THE NIGHT OWL
RETURN OF THE NIGHT OWL Winters chill roamed the room. The softness of my blue fleece blanket wrapped my body and I refuse to get out of bed, thinking to myself, I have exactly thirty minutes before the sun comes up and I have to get out the door into the freezing snow, And to school I could hear the commotion downstairs as everyone was running around trying to make it to school on time. I'm always the last one. School is six miles away so there's no need to rush. Finally the courage to place my feet onto the ice frozen floor boards I could see my breath as I yawned. Frightened by a loud bang on my window. I jumped. Paused in confusion I tip toed over to look out. There's nothing but a brown barn owl.
By Melissa Marie Federico4 years ago in Fiction
