Fable
Beowulf vs. the Dragon
In Geatland, Beowulf’s Mead Bar and Grill was rather close to a sleeping dragon’s lair. Loud music and laughter constantly filled the boisterous bar. Geatland had nearly fifty years of peace once King Beowulf came back home from killing the Lizard-Monster and its mommy. By helping out King Hrothgar, Beowulf came home with tons of extra money, heaps of gold, and plenty of cryptocurrency.
By Barb Dukemanabout a year ago in Fiction
Snow White and the Ageless Fountain of Youth
Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder—or so they say. Most women would crawl under a knife to look this good, but not Snow White. Snow had a natural aura around her and a personality to match. Being a Princess—many assumed her life would be glitter and sunshine, rainbows and rows of suitors. But it was not. Snow spent her days scrolling, watching countless videos on women prettier than her bleaching their skin in order to be the fairest in the land, dying their hair to the latest set of trends, filling their lips with plumpers and cinching their waists. All the while, Snow’s skin was of the finest porcelain, her hair the darkest night and her eyes bewitching clouds of cerulean jade. She was in a word, stunning. No one else in the Realm had a beauty that matched her own—and yet, there was something secret Snow kept inside. A lull, dull ache. The desire to be normal. Snow didn’t think her beauty was as beautiful as anyone else’s. She couldn’t understand why she was still single at the blossoming age of thirty when all those around her were finding their soul-mates and having children.
By K.H. Obergfollabout a year ago in Fiction
The Common Tongue
Bimpe and Papa Legba had been walking together for three hours when they crossed paths with another traveler – a merchant driving his cart. The beast pulling his cart looked like a buffalo, but Bimpe didn’t think any merchant was crazy enough to try and yoke a widow-maker to their wares. But, if the beast pulling the merchant’s cart was strange, the merchant himself was stranger.
By T. A. Bresabout a year ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Missing
In the quiet town of Hollowridge, a chilling mystery lingers, one that has haunted its residents for generations. Known for its dense forests and winding paths, the town carries an unsettling reputation—children have been disappearing without a trace for over a century. What remains are the whispers, faint and fleeting, heard in the wind, in the rustle of leaves, and, some say, in the dead of night.
By BrandEcho3about a year ago in Fiction
Quiet Quitting: If Sisyphus Had Gen-Z Attitude & Outlook on Life
I’ve been doing this for three thousand years. At least that's what I estimate, more or less. Can’t tell more precisely because I lost count of days and nights. With this type of a job, you would too, anyone would. Yes, I have to roll this huge rock up not only during the day but at night, too. Up and down, up and down. I roll it up, almost all the way to the top, it rolls down under its weight and I have to start over.
By Lana V Lynxabout a year ago in Fiction
