Classical
Vengeance in Mycenae
The time has come to avenge my daughter's death. The trireme with Agamemnon's flags lingered outside to the harbor until the tide could help them in. Now, the entire polis of Mycenae seems to hold its collective breath. From my position on the palace's upper veranda, I can see the people below pausing, just a moment, to consider the incoming ship. They invariably look up towards the palace, then continue on their ways. I can't see their facial expressions. Perhaps some are planning to align themselves with their estranged king.
By Deanna Cassidy4 years ago in Fiction
Sir Humphry Loves Anna
July 27, 1826 My dearest aunt, I wrote you at length, in my entry of July 10, news of Sir Humphry Davy. His visit to our estate was, as reported, most delightful. He has not been well having suffered a mild incident of apoplexy. He wished he might have visited you in Blackcastle but was concerned the journey would prove too taxing. I am sure he enjoyed the short summer rides throughout County Longford. Like yours, our countryside is so very verdant this time of year. This letter is a separate epistle for reasons that will become apparent. I would ask that you destroy it for the benefit of Anna’s memory and more importantly, for Charles Henry.
By Alexander J. Cameron4 years ago in Fiction
The Frozen Pond Part Four
Another knock on Tazi’s front door came, and when she got up to answer, she mentally shut down the thoughts that she was having so vividly about Leroy. Upon opening the front door to greet whoever was there, her breath caught in her throat when she saw that it was Leroy.
By Theresa Evans4 years ago in Fiction
Where you and I, will grow.
The dawn arose at the stroke of seven in the morning, and the clouds of yesterday started to vanish. I could feel the moisture in the atmosphere, as I sat upon the grass gazing at the flower pot near the side of my house, with marigold flowers blooming from the soil inside the pot. As I looked at the flowers starting to truly blossom, I noticed how the sky wasn’t shrouded by the storm clouds, and my heart started to rejoice as my skin was touched by the gentle rays of the sun. The veil over the heavens had dispersed, and the day seemed all the clearer. Though the ground was damp from the pouring rain of yesterday, I seemed to enjoy sitting in it as I soaked up the summer sun early in the morning.
By Jordan Zuniga4 years ago in Fiction
The Frozen Pond Part Three
“Okay, I understand what you are saying, and you are my best friend too, but this new information about me dying is scaring the crap out of me, Leroy. I have never encountered anything like this before, and I am distraught right now. Thanks for having my best interest at heart. I don’t know what I would do without you. Just keep me posted on the developments.” Tazi said.
By Theresa Evans4 years ago in Fiction
The Frozen Pond Two
Taz replied, “You have one week to convince this city that I Taz come in peace, and if I do not see a humble heart within that week, the pond will stay frozen.” Tazi knew that she had her work cut out for her, but she disappeared into the frozen pond before she could ask Taz any more questions. Tazi said, “Well, I guess I will get to work, but first, I need to go back to the hotel and do some digging of my own.”
By Theresa Evans4 years ago in Fiction
Broken Trust
Originally published here Something I’ve been working on for a while, after numerous discussions/rants about Greek Mythology. One of those was whether Hera was oversimplified, because there were several of Zeus’s children who didn’t earn her wrath. Therefore, this was born.
By Natasja Rose4 years ago in Fiction
The Publisher's Prejudice
“To my friends I am known as Mace, to my clients Mr Nase, and to you I am God.” So spoke the elderly publisher with a kind of judicious weight on each syllable, shaking his opposite’s hand, and dressing the furniture in his coat. His entrance had heralded a collective holding of the café’s breath, and only when Mr Nase was seated were the ricochets of quotidian busyness around allowed to reanimate – albeit in his orbit. Although the room was overpopulated with the clanging of spoons on crockery and the timekeeping of invisible footsteps, their shadows were mute; the world outside the little table between these two men was intangible, a cacophony of meaning so multivalent that it seeped into their senses as white noise; but here, there was anticipation, a shared sense of gravity, as if a letter were to slide through the door imminently with the kind of news enclosed that changes a life. It was under this very gravity that the publisher leaned back for a moment and let his hands tesselate on the finely tailored trousers lining his lap. His eyes wandered around the place with a purposeful gait, apparently indifferent to the silent defiance returned by the author opposite him.
By H. R. M. Laventure4 years ago in Fiction
