Fantasy
Coven of the Moon
It's a day I'll never forget. No witch ever forgets the day she came into herself. It was like any other typical day. I worked on my chores and listened to Taylor Swift's new album. I was dusting the living room and trying to ensure I did it right, or my mom would make me do it again. Mom was cleaning the kitchen. She was the only one allowed to deep clean it because no one could do it the way she liked, and she said it was her happy place.
By Shanice Lawton4 years ago in Fiction
Transmigration
He twists his head backward—she will never get used to this—and angles his forehead to her face, eyes staring at her upside down while his talons grip her outstretched arm covered in black wool. She smiles and brings her arm closer, presses her lips to his downy forehead, shimmering black in the full moon light as he adjusts his feathers, a subtle shiver down his wings.
By Casey Kaye4 years ago in Fiction
When an owl flies through
She had been sewing the finishing threads on a garment for a customer. She had a side job creating custom costumes for people who also loved getting into character and dressing up as much as she did. She would knit and crochet and wear her created prop armor and gear made with fabric and cardboard getting together with her friends and anyone else wanting to join on campus. Once she started being asked if she could make these cool creations by others who were interested, she started to gain a small valued gig. This particular customer was set to appear in a play and approached her on campus and asked her to create a nice flowing garb she thought came out pretty nice. It appeared as if she had spent all night working on this garment. New ideas kept her up and a bit of coffee. She decided to check her phone clock next to her sewing machine. Turning on the screen button she saw that it was 1:30 in the morning. She needed to get sleep as great as the thrill of creating something she was aware sleep was important to rest the mind for clarity on other projects. As she completed the garment she sat back in her chair.
By Monique M Roundtree4 years ago in Fiction
Lock
I have long since heard a voice that has become as familiar to me as my own face. Others knew of him but they feared him. He was the voice of death. I knew he was always a step behind me. He guarded me and never let others too close. Death was my protector for whatever reason. I never thought to question it.
By Desiree Wetz4 years ago in Fiction
Margret
Fair blond hair, light bronze skin, eyes the shade of emerald green, her freckles were all over her face, and her nose was long and thin. Her beauty was alluring; her mind was as sharp as her manner. The art, that she called grace, with the beauty mixed together, she was often compared to a 1970 Lauren Hutton. She was short but her skinny legs made her appear taller than she truly was. And her arms were long when at her side reaching down past her hips.
By Abigail Castillo4 years ago in Fiction
A Woodland Adventure
Fallyn stopped and looked around. Silence settled. At least it seemed so for a short moment. She could hear squirrels skittering around the trees, and birds chattering to each other before taking wing, and she could hear others watching her. How does one exactly hear someone watching? She did not know, but she could. She stood among the trees and the underbrush that was so tall it nearly completely engulfed her and listened. She would never find her way out of the woods if she could not find a trail of some kind. Fallyn turned in a circle. The snow crunched under her boots and her breath streamed behind her. All semblance of silence was broken. Her movement startled the creatures of the forest. Birds took flight, squirrels and other small rodents momentarily stopped and then scurried into hiding. There was nothing for it, she realized, "I must find a trail." She said to no one, and off she started once again trudging through the snow while pushing brush out of her path.
By Teresa Mary Shafer4 years ago in Fiction
The Owl of the Night of Lethshire
‘One will always be journeying, always moving and changing,’ Verry uttered with the soundness of mind and great authority that can only be felt by a youth who has spent his first year abroad (and therefore seen most of the things there are to see in life) and who is ready to provide advice whenever it is necessary, as well as when it is not.
By Bonnie Clare4 years ago in Fiction
Dora “The Explorer” Marquez In WWII
Hola, mi nombre es Dora “The Explorer” Marquez. You may know me as “an icon not only for kids, but for anyone who needs to feel represented” (Gomez), but what you may not know is that a lot more went on in my life than what my television show lets on.
By Emily Clare Burgess4 years ago in Fiction
