Excerpt
31 Days of October Writing Prompts
October is right around the corner, and what better month to inspire creativity and story? For this year, I decided to create daily writing prompts for the month for inspiration to exercise the writing brain. To have fun with putting down whatever comes through the pen—or if a sudden urge comes along, a paintbrush.
By K. Kocheryan3 years ago in Fiction
Welcome Home
“Some welcome home, huh?” I kicked a rock down the path, watching it bounce along until it caught a root and came to an abrupt halt. The smoke from Drew’s cigarette fluttered through the air and to my nose. I hadn’t seen him dressed up in years. His funeral best was better than mine, but in my defense I had only been back in town for a week. In that week, my best friend had died, I had crashed my car, and the hotel I was staying in had been shut down because of the drugs they were making in the basement. None of it I was prepared for.
By Katrina Thornley3 years ago in Fiction
ᴀ ᴛᴏᴅᴅʟɪɴɢ ᴍʏsᴛᴇʀʏ
ᴛʀᴀᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴀ ᴡɪᴄᴄᴀɴ ʜᴏʟɪᴅᴀʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ sᴀʙʙᴀᴛs, ᴏsᴛᴀʀᴀ ɪs ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴄᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ sᴘʀɪɴɢ ᴇǫᴜɪɴᴏx ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴛs ʀᴇɴᴇᴡᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇʙɪʀᴛʜ ᴏʀ ɴᴇᴡ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢs. ᴏsᴛᴀʀᴀ ʜᴀs sᴇᴠᴇʀᴀʟ ɴᴀᴍᴇs, ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴɢʟᴏ—sᴀxᴏɴ ɢᴏᴅᴅᴇss, ᴇᴏsᴛʀᴇ.
By Sai Marie Johnson3 years ago in Fiction
A Possessive House
Chapter One First, It Must Begin The wind whipped against the window where bright blue eyes filled with an unspoken wonder peered out. The sound of the pelting water was the only audible thing around — but this was a comforting sort of quietness that made one feel lulled into relaxation. Almost like the feeling eating turkey gave after Thanksgiving Day had ended.
By Sai Marie Johnson3 years ago in Fiction
The Reed boat
Laurelle Laurelle The purple clouds blushed pink and danced till darkness met the treetops. Meet me in the morning said Laurelle, sketch me on banks of the Oslo fjord reeds inlet amongst the dried rushes. She bathed and swam and dried herself on the shoreside in glorious morning sunshine.
By Tiffany Brown, Tiffany Campbell Brown, Tiffanarty3 years ago in Fiction
The Immortal King
I imagine the Gods weeping every time the rain falls. There are no wails of despair, only silent tears that blanket the landscape, nourishing the beauty of the world around us while depriving us of the warmth that comes with the sun. I feel as if here, in Portland, it’s always raining, as if the gods are as sad as the poor souls trapped in this decaying shit hole. Slumped shoulders of wet pedestrians accompany the overcast skies and water-logged shoes that are the norm for most of the year. Why would I expect anything else on the one day that mattered? We have two seasons here: the hot one which comes with a permanent coating of sweat and a constant sun glare, and the wet one which accounts for the other nine months of the year. You would think that growing up here would cause a person to become accustomed to this shit, or that we would at least learn to carry an umbrella and invest in some boots, but the vast majority of us, including yours truly, never catch on.
By Jefferey A Ayers3 years ago in Fiction
