Fable
A Recurring Bliss
"Who's there?" said as he slowly turned back to see where the sound came from. Hello? Is there anyone here? He asked again, trying to hide the fear in his voice as he spoke, but around him, he only saw trees and the old leaves that glided to the ground in a very odd pattern.
By Jevmar Hex4 years ago in Fiction
An Owl and a Vole
Every night, the old barn owl soars over a groaning mire of gnarled branches. Beneath him, an ensemble of unnameable squawks and howls ring out from all directions, each signalling its own dramatic scene along one of the countless life stories unraveling somewhere in the woods. Only hunger and primeval joy propel the owl below into the unknown, sending him down to pluck doomed little denizens from their forest homes before fear forces his retreat to the upper canopy.
By Juan Hurtado4 years ago in Fiction
A Knight of Skye
Upon the Kenning of the twelfth moon of autumn, on Gehenna’s day, all the young horned owls of Skye maketh pilgrimage to the sacred peak known as Ravensmount. They do it in their hundreds. They do it not for food, neither for shelter, nor for mates, nests, or any other thing one might expect to be normal for an owl. Nay, these young wings flap up its sheer and craggy face, facing biting wind and rain for one thing and one thing only, honor. It has been this way since time immemorial, when the twelve Strix first led the owls to Skye and became the protectors of the Vale. It is here that they were gifted the mountain by the ravens, it is here where new knights are made, and it is here where most of them will die. For to become a knight of Skye, one must first be willing to fall, and from this fall only then can they truly rise.
By Aqil Rajan4 years ago in Fiction
The Owl Who Had No Hoot
Jerry was a loner. An outcast. Ever since he opened his sharp brown beak to speak, he knew he wasn't like the other owls. This made him dread the long, warm summer nights. His family would gather with the neighboring owls, all nestled together high in the rafters of an enormous abandoned barn outside the city lights. And they would hoot. And hoot. And hoot.
By Jacaranda C.4 years ago in Fiction
Crimson and White
On a night colder than any in memory, somewhere on the backroads of an old New England countryside, a man traveled home to a small, unnamed town where white smoke billowed from brick chimney tops. On the eve of a winter holiday, families gathered inside their dwellings, held up from the nips of cold air and whips of sharp wind blustering outside. The man, instead, drove alone through a bleak and dreary scene far from there, his only companion an old, clunking, dilapidated green car that had seen many years past its prime.
By Charles W. Vincent4 years ago in Fiction
Gus Finds His Purpose
Gus Finds His Purpose Hi, my name is Gus. I am a Golden Retriever. It’s been two years, four months, and one day that I’ve been living with my family and Maddie, my best friend. It’s the end of the summer. Birds are singing and squirrels are running up and down the maple trees. I feel the warm sunbeams on my fur as I sleep on my bed. Life is good. “Gus, it’s time to get up. Today we are going to Dog School,” said Mom. Dog School, oh boy! I have been waiting a lifetime to go to Dog School. What do I need, Mom? My stuffed pig, my ball, how about my fancy bandana? “Hop into the car, Gus. Today, you only need a leash.”
By Karen Nicksich4 years ago in Fiction
Walking Legend
Metallic thwangs pervaded Gørgon's dreams, each conjured image set to the same metronome. He grew anxious in its absence. T’was Yorne, knelt by yesternight’s fire, tending a series of swords with hammerhead. One hand struck metal on metal and the other, a banded twist of twigs serving for lost limb, held each blade between his knees. He did not sleep, far as Gørgon could tell. His arm of bark made him kin to the earth, and neither slept a wink.
By Michael Acciarino4 years ago in Fiction
The Owlet's Reflections
Lispy surveyed his surrounding area, as the moonlight caught a glimpse of his white feathered body. Lisby lived in a tall oak forest, with a river trickling past. He lived in what should have been his paradise and his forest usually had a thick blanket of snow covering the landscape and tree tops. Lispy’s stomach grumbled. He must scavenge for food. His eyes darted from tree to tree, trying to spot easy prey, and this led him to a mouse in the distance. In one foul swoop, he took the mouse and brought it back to his tall oak tree. The next night, Lispy was trying to catch fish. He wanted to be recognised as a fierce bird, who should not be reckoned with…a creature to be reckoned with when passing through his forest.
By Michelle Haupt4 years ago in Fiction
Mr. and Mrs. Squirrel, Owl, and the Sycamore Tree
Mr. and Mrs. Squirrel, Owl, and the Sycamore Tree. By: Caleb Branam A certain owl set out one day for new lands. This was a particular barn owl who tired of his drafty barn, its rustic setting and meager offerings. In truth no barn in the world would be enough. No place ever would, Owl suffered from one of the most powerful curses ever known. Owl wanted more. Always he wanted more, and his cunning and power were such, that what he could not achieve by guile, he took by force. Driven by ego and insatiable avarice Owl took wing in search of more, and more, and more. After many days and nights of flight he came to a sprawling city. Owl soared above the snow-capped rooftops until at length he found a church. Weary from the journey he landed on the steeple and took in the scene below.
By Caleb Branam4 years ago in Fiction
