Fantasy
Ghost Of My Past
You never really know grief until you’ve experienced it. I grew up in a large family where funerals and birthdays became the new family get together. It was a common joke that we were all so stubborn we refused even giving death a break. It’s not that I didn’t feel any sense of sadness when someone passed, I just became acquainted with death at such an early age that I came to accept it as a part of life. I remember this one time, after the passing of Grandpa Sam, asking my mother as she got me ready for bed
By Julia Alfred4 years ago in Fiction
Warwick
P A R T . O N E Isle of Man | 1930 Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Soaring beneath those cold, saffron clouds, high above the Irish Sea, was Warwick - who was anxiously returning home after delivering his final Hogwarts Letter.
By Kale Sinclair4 years ago in Fiction
The owl's magic
As Ben looked out of the car window, he felt swallowed by the evergreen trees that surrounded his new home. Moving to a new environment, miles away from his hometown, was very new to him. He was used to living on the tenth floor of a high rise apartment building. As he and his family approached their new home, he noticed three children playing in the nearby field. The moving company was following nearby. Ben got out of the car and went inside of his new home. He was excited to see which room his parents picked out for him. He ran up the stairs and noticed that his room sat at the back of the house. The swallowing evergreen trees could be seen out of his bedroom window. Ben tried to focus on getting settled in his new room, but his mind was preoccupied with the evergreen trees.
By Imani Hayes4 years ago in Fiction
Weaver
Weaver By Ryan Carrasco A slim shadow danced over the rooftops of the Greenways. It was morning, and a Singer had just arrived. Cool clouds crawled over the Broadmount, spilling down gracefully toward the riverlands, but Delray preferred listening to looking. He pondered at the vanishing silence that came with nearing a bustling mountain town. Three alpine streams tumbled into a brisk calm, slowing into the mouth of the great Oerland River. The growing din of the waking townsfolk sat atop the softer rush of the river. Neither sound was loud or intrusive, but taking one away would insert a startling emptiness. A void. A silence only noticed because of what it replaced.
By Ryan Carrasco4 years ago in Fiction
The Forest of Freedom
“Uncle, what is that sound outside?” asked little Hannah. He listened closely and heard, hoo-hoo, hoo. “Ah, that’s an owl - a beautiful bird who watches over the night. There is a legend told about the barn owl; however, only fairies and gnomes have been trusted with the tale,” her uncle said with mystery in his voice.
By Amber Dobkins4 years ago in Fiction
