Adventure
El Toro Diabólico
In Dirt Plains Texas, a small town of 536 people, lived a young man of 19 named Tuck Dole. He lived in Dirt Plains all his life, played Quarterback in High School, until a Defensive Lineman ruined his chance at a scholarship with UCLA, by landing on his leg after a sack, and a fumble. The leg healed but he was never the same after, he walked with a slight limp the rest of his life.
By Neville Nicol4 years ago in Fiction
Dinner Is Ready
Jesse and his men were not prepared for the frag grenade that landed right in the middle of their squad. Who was ever prepared to be blown up? Sure, it was always a possibility in war, especially in a battle this fierce, but one was never really prepared to die.
By Sean McEntee4 years ago in Fiction
Hiding Places
There is something to be said for punctuality. Dominic said he would be here at 11:00. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he would be here on time, and he knocked on the door at 10:59. I'm glad I followed my intuition to be ready on time. I wasn't sure where we were going for lunch, so I made sure to dress casually in a simple malibu blue maxi dress and nude sandals. He wore khaki shorts, an olive green polo, and Sperrys. We looked ready for a day at the beach.
By Kathy Saunders4 years ago in Fiction
A Woman and her Van... I mean Man...
It’s a distinct possibility that I’d completely lost my mind. Juniper’s headlights illuminated the dirt road as it unfurled beneath the back bumper of Landon’s 90’s era Dodge van. A thousand times I wondered if I’d be murdered, if I should just turn around and hightail it out of there, if I’d ever find my way home again.
By Christine Reed4 years ago in Fiction
The Chronicles of Cerberus | Part One
Cerberus looked ahead and took a step back. The hound of Hades felt fear. How could this be? The guardian of the gates of hell was trembling. This had never happened before. It was not even supposed to be possible. His countless battles and exceptional bravery had sealed his reputation as one of the most powerful mythical beasts. What had happened during the eight days that followed his departure from the underworld for cracks to suddenly appear in his indomitable spirit?
By Ashley BOOLELL4 years ago in Fiction
Instant Regret of Opening Packages Not Addressed To You
There was no note or warning, just a simple package left on my doorstep wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. I shouldn’t have opened it, I kick myself every day for giving into the mystery. Now I cannot take it back. My name is Shae and this is my story.
By Ashleigh Holmes5 years ago in Fiction
Minnie and the Bull
A field of tall grass and marigolds stood between the picnic table and the line of woods at the edge of the property. ‘It’s a fairytale meadow!’ Minnie would say as she danced with her seven sisters every sunny Sunday afternoon. This was their favorite place to enjoy their one day each week without chores on their family’s farm. Dressed in their Sunday best, little prairie dresses with small flower print and full calf-length skirts, they would spin and spin, letting the air fill their skirts up into little puffy ballet tutus. They’d spin for so long that they’d become dizzy, falling over into the marigolds together, laughing. Minnie, the youngest at age five, would watch her skirt with intense concentration, waiting for it to turn into a little hot air balloon and carry her off into the skies of her imagination. Sometimes, when she thought hard enough, she would feel it start to happen, lift off, a sense of weightlessness, excited for this adventure away from reality; she’d close her eyes tightly, preparing to open them and be in the air, floating above a meadow of unicorns, a forest of fairies, and a valley of magical unknowns ready to be explored. Then she’d hit the ground next to her sisters, yellow and orange petals surrounding her, thrown into the air from the force of their bodies falling back to earth, grounding their sundress-clad physical forms moments before their minds would rejoin them. She’d feel mild disappointment before laughing when the butterflies returned to her tummy and the happiness and giggles of her sisters brought her back to her favorite place in the world. Why would she want to float away from it all anyway, she’d think. Weaving marigolds and dandelions into little crowns and dancing the day away was the best use of a sunny afternoon that Minnie, or any of her sisters, could imagine after all.
By Joanna Langemak5 years ago in Fiction
Legend of the Gladar
Halley Blake was a typical fighter pilot Astrophysicist. Raised on Star Trek, Star Wars, The Last Starfighter, and Star Gate she grew up dreaming about the astronauts and one day going to space herself. Her family regularly visited the Smithsonian and she would wander off into the Air and Space Museum. The museum staff knew her by name and snuck her treats from the gift shop. She went to space camp every summer, sometimes twice a year just for the thrill of talking about nothing but space. High school valedictorian with all the highest honors and half a full ride scholarship later her dreams fell apart into a million, infanticimal pieces. The summer before her Junior year they arrived. First it was the Super Hero Foreigner, an alien, and he sparked everybody’s space fever. Then other aliens began to arrive to challenge him, and as his reputation seemed to grow amongst the stars so did the number of challengers. NASA stopped sending astronauts up and leaned into RND; Foreigner was incredible, and no challenger had defeated him yet, but the people of earth weren’t ready to entrust their entire fate to him. They wanted weapons of their own. Thanks to the many monsters and space pirates coming in what seemed like weekly adventures, there was a steady supply of alien technology. Before Halley could say “duel major” she had become obsolete to her only dream. Halley was grounded.
By alan pierce5 years ago in Fiction
Brief Innings
Hambly thought; it was a colosseum, not bruised by old blood and the accretions of millennia, but of freshly cleaned bone, refined by an aeonic process of repetition, to a pure and shadowless white, not the pristine white of Christmas, nor the phantom-white of a suddenly billowing gas flame, but the white of masks and ash and funerals, now smeared by the shapes cast under a lowering sun of men brought to a halt, and in the throes of catching from the blue air, the ghosts of their breaths.
By C S Hughes5 years ago in Fiction
