Fable

Sacre' bleu, C'est un Loup Garou!
When I was a child, camping out in the deep rural Maine wilderness was nothing short of magical. It always began by stepping off of the bus on the last day of school to see our old station wagon packed to the gills with camping gear and supplies. It seemed like my feet had barely touched the ground before the old Buick's heavy door thunked closed behind me, and we began the long journey to Old Town and beyond.
By J. A. Rossignol4 years ago in Fiction
Tales of a Wicked Fox
October nights are always silver in rain clouds and mountain mist. It carries the bitter death of suns and the edges of swords flicking in starlight. Slow drags of incense and steam curl from stone teapots while paper lanterns and paper dolls decorate the windowsills. They sound like teeth cracking open a forbidden elixir and silver skirts trailing against whitened grass, like the sigh of the moon creaking under the weight of a mortal-made-divine woman as her hands reach down for her lover. October nights are the thin smoke of burnt offerings, silver tears of children, and tales spun from the mouths of wild foxes.
By alissa 4 years ago in Fiction
Fall chills
Pulling back my less-than-fresh sheets and flinging my resting legs, I stare. Amazed by the human's internal clock. How little it knows and how fast it learns. The cold that stalked me throughout the night nips and pinches at my skin. It begs, it wants my warmth. What remains of my cocoon is slowly falling into its trap. My enticing bed begs me to return, to save it from the stealthy killer.
By Rambler's Society4 years ago in Fiction
Lisa The Parrot
"You need to calm down." Said Tom Goat; Lisa's husband, when Lisa the Parrot got the news that her only daughter who lives in the next city was very sick and had a short time to live because the disease was incurable. No one knew what this disease was all about. Poor Lisa wept and prayed then decided to visit her daughter. She was a very poor middle-aged woman and had nothing to carry to her dying daughter but an egg. She said to her husband Tom, "At least let me take this egg to her, let her eat before she has her final rest." She decided to take the route through the farms to reach early.
By Ngenwuthe4 years ago in Fiction
Achilles and Penthesilea
Young Pelides, whose hands yet reeked with death, Having purloined Troy’s finest son of breath, Beheld Patroclus’ husk in flames consumed,
By Kyle McDonald4 years ago in Fiction
The next life
I was healthy enough to you know live a little longer at least. But now I'm stuck here in what they call "limbo" giving therapy sessions to restless souls so that they may have the chance to move on or go into the light. I was told that by doing this I will learn the reason of why I'm still here. In all honesty, I don't think I'm making any progress.
By The normal mom4 years ago in Fiction
Cloud Ants and Deluge
Ants seldom admit defeat, and they never surrender to death. All other manner of Things That Crawl would be consumed by the rising river when the rains come; indeed, a falling gob of rain alone may crush a butterfly and doom her to drown.
By MA Snell4 years ago in Fiction
Clouds
Jason loved watching the clouds he could spend hours doing it all day. He could name all the different kinds as well. Turning them into shapes that were not really there. Or were they? In his mind they were always there. Pitted against the dark background. And turned into something that he could see forever. They floated on there own currents up there in the sky and sometimes they were mean. As in a terrifying thunderstorms. Bouncing around each other. And meaningful complications that they possessed.
By Alex Jennett4 years ago in Fiction
How Garuda Got His Name
The little bird pecked the egg from inside. He pecked and pecked until the egg cracked and broke and the hatchling clumsily made its way out into the world, waddling on the ground. With each step, he grew in size, and miraculously, within a few minutes, the bird had grown to its full size and splendor.
By Parag4 years ago in Fiction
Creature of Comfort
The carnival was in town today. Filled with a myriad of images. The gargoyle you see here was one of them. Toting its pistols. The vehicles of change were coming. Fairies were coming out to roost in the epidomized censorship that we call home. They show that some of us can remember the parade with its flags and such. I'm having a hard time concentrating today. But thats part of the writing process. Pretty healthy body pretty healthy mind maybe.
By Alex Jennett4 years ago in Fiction
Cabin in the Glade
Leaves wafted down as James picked his way along the trail, trying to avoid muddy spots while taking in the reds, yellows, and oranges of the autumnal forest. Now and then, he’d stop and listen to a bird call or the breeze slipping through the treetops.
By Nicholas E. Barron4 years ago in Fiction
Heated Bellow
The crowd assembled slowly, a bit before dawn. Their overcoats and head coverings wrapped tightly about them in the crisp early morning air. The makeshift stage rose before them, surrounded by chain link fences on all sides. It’s erection was hurriedly completed in the night on the old Smith dairy farm past the outskirts of town. Just when the biting wind seemed to make the visitors too uncomfortable, the sun rose over the horizon and streamed a revelatory light on the scene before them.
By Efstratios Monafis4 years ago in Fiction