Fantasy
The Forest of Owls
The night of the new moon is when magic is darkest, when evil’s eyes can see into the souls of all beings. There is one place on this earth that evil will walk confidently with a name long forgotten. Frolicking and dancing with an icy breath whose stench can be discovered briefly before it’s too late. Satan himself would tread lightly upon the decay of this ancient forest floor. People call this place the Forest of Owls. How this came to be is a sad tale that has been passed down from generation to generation for hundreds of years, never wavering far from the original. It’s been told thousands of times.
By Margaret Buckwalter4 years ago in Fiction
Between Two World's
Page 1. -Between Two Worlds -A young barn owl woke up in this place that didn't look familiar. This place smelt unfamiliar to her. She wasn't sure where she was but wherever she was the smell of this place was so ungodly that she upchuck several times. there was another white owl taking care of her that kept bowing in her presence. she was making her feel very uneasy.
By SUGAR FAMILY Live TV4 years ago in Fiction
Tuto and I
I heard the familiar hooting at dusk. Her bright orange eyes glowed at me, inviting me in. A deep contentment warmed my body and I fell back into a light sleep and into Tuto’s skin. We had grown accustomed to living in the same skin at night, she and I. Tuto shared her secrets with me when I most needed them; we hunted, flew, and ruled the night together.
By Stacy Shepherd4 years ago in Fiction
Come Away, Come Away
There once was a boy named Alexander, who lived in a farmhouse beyond the city limits. Where the streets of asphalt gave way to the dusty gravel roads of country living. His family farmed a small plot of land, barely making enough money to survive to the next harvest. His father, Isaac, was a man who believed that he deserved more than his station allowed him to achieve. Isaac dealt with this problem by searching for his fortune at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey. On his better days, Isaac would be found passed out on the couch, with the warm glow of the CRT television softly dancing on the coarse stubble of his drunken face, his black hair resting over his closed bloodshot eyes. On his worst days, Isaac would be storming the house, looking for someone to take his anger at the world out on someone smaller than himself. That person was Alexander.
By Zachary Archer4 years ago in Fiction
The Bloody Shaft of St. Valentine
In the modern world of online dating, falling in love can be as quick and easy as finding the right pair of shoes in a discount department store, or eating a perfectly cooked waffle. The same can be said for falling out of love, creating the need for quick and easy exit strategies.
By Brooke Farrar4 years ago in Fiction
The Harbingers
Looking at photos of my mother when she was young, I’m reminded of a youthful Michelle Pfeiffer circa 1975- pale, rail thin, long straight blonde hair and side-swept bangs framing her moody ingenue face with black-rimmed eyes. In her later years my mother would come to describe that make-up look as ‘two burnt holes in a white sheet.’ It always made me smile when she said that, and it was an apt description, but my God, was she beautiful.
By Tiffany Morgan4 years ago in Fiction
Tour Guide
Robyn stirred in her bed. The bedroom was dark. Something moved. She blinked her eyes open. She was in her bed in her room; but something was off. Even in the darkness there was always some light: the moonlight throw the curtains, street lamp glare, the little red light on the TV. The space was void of all signs of light. Her eyes darted to the closet, something had moved, she could sense it. Drawing deep, warm breaths Robyn propped up on her elbows searching for the bedside lamp. Never taking her eyes off the closet her hand found the switch. Pausing, she prepared herself for whatever it might be. The light snapped on and her eyes withdrew from the intrusion. She blinked several times to adjust. Looking around something was off. Off like before the milk curdles and smells but after the expiration date; it was probably still fine to drink but it felt wrong. It was her room. She was sitting on her bed next to her bedside lamp on her bedside table. The closets door was slightly ajar, she could see her clothes on her hangers. The bookshelf was filled with her books. It was her blue and white flower curtains over the windows and her sandals by the door. But somehow it was still wrong. Even with the lamp on it was too dark. Usually that lamp cast brightness into every corner. Now it was more like a dim, dying fire. Robyn was sitting up against the backboard. She was steadily scanning the room to try to find what was wrong. She could hear her own breathing, thats when she realized how loudly quiet it was. There were no sounds: no AC, no fan. Breathing deeply trying not to go into a panic, she stared at a single spot. Blinked. In the slightly ajar closet behind clothes and hangers the darkness was staring back. The tiniest sound came from the staring darkness, like someone shifting their weight. Now she was giving herself permission to panic. She pressed into the backboard and clumsily scrambled away from the closet. Her left hand pressed down on air and with a scream Robyn tumbled to the floor. A small male voice whispered “I’m sorry” after she stopped screaming. Robyn’s eyes grew to the size of oranges. A hand came out from the darkness grabbing the edge of the slightly ajar closet door. The hand pulled the white door open. A forearm formed in the light. He moved slowly trying not to startle her. She was well past that point. She screamed again and railroaded for the door. It opened easily but there was nothing on the other side. Just a pure black void. She was so flustered she pushed her hand into it, it was like a stone wall. Pivoting, almost face planting, she rushed for the windows. Nearly ripping down the rods, she threw the curtains open. It was just wall. Robyn suddenly remembered the man in her closet and whirled around falling into the windowless wall. He was just standing there, lips pursed. Staring at her. He looked nervous. He hadn’t tried to grab her as she rushed around the room. She could see him swallow hard. He pointed to the open door leading to the nothingness, “Um, that’s for your own protection.”
By Kimberly Deertz4 years ago in Fiction
