Excerpt
The Funeral
“The sky was grey, and wept with a soft rain, I remember that much. People hurried through with black umbrellas, barely speaking a word to each other lest they disturb the quiet calm worn by the whole entire city. All across the countless streets and houses a great swell of emotion waited to break at the drop of a hat, and the people waited on baited breath to see what might finally break the stillness. It was almost as if the whole damn city itself knew what today was and responded accordingly. Children had hanged their heads and cats meowed a dirge at all hours and late into the night before. Now it was the morning and the storm of emotion threatened to break now more than ever. There was no telling the depth and extent of all that this city felt at the loss of such a woman. To say they’d lost a great lady didn’t do justice. To say she had done great justice for the city wasn’t even accurate. To say the woman cared deeply for her fellow men-- of all shapes and sizes-- wasn’t enough either. For a long time people had painfully anticipated her passing, gathering in clusters on the street corners by her stately house and whispering, wondering if today could be the day. The revolving staff of nurses and doctors passing in and out gave no answers, avoiding questions from journalists and bystanders, putting a hand up and refusing to comment. Such was the way the city had carried on for weeks, then months, then years, waiting for the old woman to die.
By alan pierce4 years ago in Fiction
From The Windcaller
Although Samueld had just reached his eighteenth birthday, many would have considered him a doyen because of his unusual abilities. However, hidden away at the ancient hacienda, he rarely used his abilities or his knowledge. Now, he was studying the old manuscripts that he had discovered in the trunk under the old quilts. He hoped that they would give him some insight into what he was supposed to do to rescue the "Others". He looked longingly out the open windows at the purple mountains to the north and thought about going there to investigate. His old guardians would never agree to such an adventure. He could try to contact Andriana and get her to go ahead and plot a course for him. He suddenly thought about her going along with him. She had a special talent also but hers allowed her to be hidden without being imprisoned.
By Judith Parrish Broadbent4 years ago in Fiction
By the Blood
It was happening again. Dammit! I couldn’t stop my head from spinning, the visions flashing before my eyes. The eruption of Vesuvius. The earthquakes in Crete. Poveglia Island. The Antonine Plague. The scenes came and went almost faster than I could keep up. My nose bled and my legs felt like jelly as I stumbled down the hall. My hoarse voice called out to my mother, but I didn’t think she could hear me. I tried my damnedest to shout, but I felt like my voice was slowly being stolen. As I finally came upon the entrance to the living room, I whispered for her once last time.
By Mina Ramey4 years ago in Fiction
House on the Hill
There was this house on a hill that was very evil. It reeked of it. The rubble could call itself names. It would probably call itself Paul, I would think. It was also a very sad house. Crawling with dog tags and mystical letters. Painted red and swallowed whole in romance. The romance of the mystical kind. It baited many a weary traveler. Drowned them in its own sadness. This is very disturbing, but it was there just the same.
By Alex Jennett4 years ago in Fiction
Waves
It is dawn. I am standing in the arched passageway to The Great Room, looking in at the floorboards, which are swirling like the ocean, spiraling inward to the very center of the house. I see my two small daughters on the other side of the room. I approach them, and as I walk across the shifting slats, I see that I myself am a young girl. I continue. When the girls see me, they stop talking and look at me with wide eyes of concern. “What is it?” I implore with my expression.
By Brooke Hamilton Benjestorf4 years ago in Fiction
Cynical Depression
My eyes snapped open. Even in the suffocating darkness, I found myself beginning to relax. The noise had come from outside my door, from the sounds of it, the little ones were playing a rather rowdy game of tag. I sat up, shifting so I could lean back against the wall, a flick of my wrist illuminating the room with dull light. What little concrete wall was peeking through my décor absorbed much of the light. Another bang interrupted the silence, followed by some shouts in protest. I reached for my phone, the light of the screen blinding me. It was only 7 am. Figures. I rolled my eyes as I began to swipe through my messages. Another email from the mayor with a request for a sit down, five emails from the bank on First Street pleading for their money back, and one email from Love. I stopped my scroll and stared at the name. Why would Love be contacting me? I didn’t miss a meeting or kill anyone this week last I checked…
By Steph Ruff4 years ago in Fiction
Origin
I was nine when my past came back to haunt me. I had finally left the ring. Got out as they say. Clawed my way out from under the piles of bodies left in my wake, but I made one fatal mistake; I left my brother behind. When he discovered me, oh so many months later, I found myself barricaded between him and the dumpster behind the Trickster’s bar, his arm pushed against my ribs and his hand around my throat. My fingers clawed at his hand, the bloody scratches doing nothing to stop his hand from squeezing my throat even tighter.
By Steph Ruff4 years ago in Fiction
