Fable
Benny and Jack
Benny was a bat who had always been fascinated by humans. He would often perch himself on a branch near a human settlement and watch as they went about their day-to-day activities. Sometimes, he would even fly close to them and observe them up close.
By Szabina Szikszai3 years ago in Fiction
Unique Benny
In the depths of a dark cave, there lived a small bat named Benny. Benny was not like the other bats, for he had the ability to talk. He had been born with this gift and had grown up speaking to his family and the other bats in his colony. But Benny had always known that his gift was special, and he longed to use it to explore the world outside his cave.
By Szabina Szikszai3 years ago in Fiction
Cody the Coyote
No one in Sedona knew that Shina, the old shopkeeper of Moonlight Crystals and only daughter of the last shaman of her faraway tribe, had befriended a mysterious coyote. Shina had named him Cody the coyote and although she seemed to know everything about Cody—his favorite foods, his hiding spots, and his moods, she was unaware of one crucial fact: Cody could speak.
By Dooney Potter3 years ago in Fiction
On My Way Home
The young girl stumbled through the dense forest, her clothes in tatters and her hair matted and tangled. The stormy night had made it even harder to find her way home, and despair was beginning to set in. The trees were thick and the underbrush dense, making it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. She had been wandering for hours, with no end in sight, until she stumbled upon a massive, ancient oak tree. As she approached it, she saw something that sent a shiver down her spine. A pair of piercing, yellow eyes were staring back at her from a hollow in the trunk.
By Shermia Trueheart3 years ago in Fiction
An Albino Named Gus
The Jane Adam’s housing project bustled with children at play. I was one of those children who stayed out until the fireflies joined the party. I’d run off through the concrete animal court-with oversized cement figures of elephants, hippos and tigers smiled nonchalantly as we played tag; running and hiding behind them. Their paint was chipped and discolored from the wineO’s putting their cigarette butt’s out on them. We didn’t care tho. We would giggle and pick at stale old wads of gum such to their noses or hindsides. Those were the good ole days. I can still taste the flavor of mint and malt liquor. We’d put our lives in danger spinning on rusted metal merry-go-rounds that I’m certain had several screws loose and jagged sharp edges that would require a tetanus and isolation for a month if we got so much as a skin tear. Any time it rained, it flooded. The concrete jungle would look like a scene out of an end of the world movie. Smog from the gutters and back yard barbecues would choke a horse; a real horse tho, not the one with the painted on smile with “ Ricky loves Donna” sharpied across it’s top molars. I loved when it rained. I’d dress my little brother in his rain coat and boots; grab a paper bag my dad had lying on the kitchen table from his can of Pepsi and fill it with Cheerios and raisins and we’d be off. Gone.
By Anjelina Anjel3 years ago in Fiction
