Fable
Blurred Vision
Blurred Vision Mr. Herrick is a wrinkled man. He lives in a small colonial home next to a churchyard, a rusted wire link fence as the only means of marking the difference between his lawn and the humble graveyard that grew on the same land. The house is painted in a yellow that years ago was robust as lemon, but now has forgotten the brightness of its former hue. The trim, however, was a loud, youthful red, like the lips of a charming smile from an elegant lady. Within the perimeter of the ruby trim on the send of floor was an expansive bay window, so wide and open, it begs you to peer through it.
By Harry Wendorff2 years ago in Fiction
Rumpelstiltskin
Once there was a disgruntled worker who was low on the socioeconomic scale, and it happened that this worker had just finished doing some repairs at the Heteronorm building downtown. The board of trustees was so pleased with the renovation that the worker was invited to meet the chairman, who wanted to personally thank him for transforming the building.
By Nicky Frankly2 years ago in Fiction
The Cottage in the Woods
You've probably heard Greta's version of events. I know I have. It's a gruesome goulash of grotesque gibberish, a fulsome farrago of fearsome falsehoods, a sickening salmagundi of salacious slander. Even though I am the target, I trust that it is obvious she has concocted a self-serving fable that features Greta as the virtuous heroine and myself as the irredeemable villain. Of course, it might come as a bit of a surprise to her that I am still alive, since her melodrama ends with my murder (fully justified, apparently) at her hands.
By Michael Dilts2 years ago in Fiction
Perceval in Boots
Perceval polished his boots for a third time. Making gentle clockwise circles while he hummed, he slowly worked the leather until there wasn’t a speck that didn’t shine. Surveying his work, he sighed with satisfaction, pulled them on each respective foot and stood with a stretch. It was time to go home now, now that his work here was done. (At least for now.) Though it had been one hell of a ride…
By Kate Kastelberg 2 years ago in Fiction
Jail-Break Rapunzel
His sword was the first thing I noticed when he arrived. People might assume I mean that euphemistically, considering the kind of relationship we're rumored to have had, and how he was - at that moment - covertly climbing through my bedroom window. Can't say I didn't sneak a look at both. But when you've been living in a cushily padded room your whole life, with hair so long that everyone else uses it as their mode of transportation, or at least if you're me, you've been searching for escape from every angle. Day in and day out, to no avail. That witch who calls herself my mother is awwwfully careful about not leaving sharp objects unattended. So then all of a sudden, unless that scabbard's just for decoration (and it very well could be, considered how fancily dressed the dunce is) this pointy stick at his waist just might be my ticket out of here.
By Ellen Stedfeld2 years ago in Fiction
HR Chronicles: Snow White
You know being HR has it's interesting days, and recent events would affirm that my job is anything but boring. Huntsmen Mineral Mines is not the worst place to work, especially given the perks -I have a new set of sapphire earrings!-, but I am a bit over the chaos. You would think it would be the incident reports and worker comp claims that did me in or even the excessive overtime to sort through on payroll. Alas, we would both be wrong. Instead, it has been the lack of work and personal life boundaries that our staff brings forth for me to sort through.
By Laura Lann2 years ago in Fiction
The Perfume Maker. Top Story - August 2023.
Arden Rose of the Perfume Emporium had a dark disposition. It seeped from her pores as a natural perfume, and trailed behind her like a forgotten wedding dress. Try though she might, Arden could not free herself of the haughty cloud that had accompanied her since her untimely birth, and so despite the perpetual 'open’ sign that hung above her shop door, her quaint perfume store remained perpetually empty.
By Rachel M.J2 years ago in Fiction
Dreamscapes and Paintings
In the quaint town of Serendell, there lived a young artist named Ava. With her vivid imagination and skillful hands, she brought canvases to life, painting scenes that seemed to capture the very essence of dreams. One fateful afternoon, as Ava dozed off in her sunlit studio, she experienced a dream unlike any other.
By Jenny Huynh2 years ago in Fiction
A Forest of Thorns
King Hubert stands at the large window in his bed chamber, watching as the sun sinks slowly towards the horizon. It is one of his lucid days, one of few the Divine sees fit to grant him, and worry twists his gut. Years ago, when the enchanted sickness had first begun to take his faculties, Hubert abdicated his throne to his son Florian; now during his lucid moments, he often stares at the horizon, thoughts full of the past.
By Alexander McEvoy2 years ago in Fiction
Alice's Whimsical Factory Adventure
In the heart of the city stood a peculiar building, known to all as the "Whimsical Confections Factory." Rumors whispered that its eccentric owner, Wilbur Wallyton, was a distant relative of the legendary Willy Wonka. The factory had been abandoned for years, but its colorful facade still intrigued passersby.
By Jenny Huynh2 years ago in Fiction
Hansel and Gretel
They called it Angel’s Lattice when the webs grew on one’s face. The plague was worse in rain, worse still in sunlight, forever eager to gnaw on the flesh. It danced from hand to hand, lover’s kiss to dying breath, and once settled could not be excised. Invisible it was, yet lethal as a honed blade. The first signs were pallor, weakness, a rustling in the veins. Then came fever and gray-tinted eyes, and finally, the lace. Across the body the murky patterns would sweep. Thin like spider’s legs and elegant, too. They trembled along with the victim, sprouting against no will but their own, to remain etched until death, merciful, interfered. Thus was how it began, and as long as Gretel’s eyes remained open, thus was how it would end.
By Bridget Couture2 years ago in Fiction
