Fantasy
Jump-start Your Writing Journey
My dear friend Nancy had dreams of being a writer after commanding a classroom forever. She figured it would finally give her a creative outlet instead of taking up knitting afghans or cultivating orchids. She hated grading papers and wanted to expand her opportunities. As we met at Panera, she shared that she wanted people to read her thoughts and allow her personal legacy to live on. “Grand idea,” I said. “I want the same.”
By Barb Dukemana day ago in Fiction
Letters to ada
Letter I – From Layth to Ada Void, beyond the 22nd century My Dearest Ada, Your eyes... velvet that dissolves the last remnants of my coldness. I was an extinguished ember, until your radiance moistened me like a river-child bending over an ancient thirst in my chest. You blinked—and all of Time leaned toward my mouth. A redness upon your lips touched my fissures, and I softened... I, whom stones never softened. Your iris was my window and my mirror: a core that illuminates and desiccates what remained of my cold soul. I whisper to you a gesture of containment, and I dissolve in Time, even though I was frozen beneath the anesthesia of heavy smoke from a cigarette that keeps the night awake in my blood. I hid a poet in an old box—I feared that if he saw you, the world around me would be disturbed... but your wide lashes excavated the box and awakened what had died before you. You approached... and in the silence of night you were like a thread of light passing over my heart. I saw sorrow wrapped around your white shawl, its yellowness faded as if traces of a day that continued to extinguish. I said to you in a whisper, my voice sagging between fear and wonder: Will you entwine your hand in mine, and shall we slip together to the bottom of Time... without fear? You smiled, and the universe slackened around me, as if the warmth of your fingers was all that remained of the world. And you were asking in silence: “Where is your place within my embrace?” And I, in whose throat the sword of silence had been planted, found myself choosing you before I could speak. Black were your eyes, yet they kindled a daylight within me. And for the first time... O you of the two eyes, I felt that I was luminous.
By LUCCIAN LAYTH2 days ago in Fiction
The House With Two Halves
CHAPTER ONE Torsten sat in the window seat in his bedroom. Half of the stained glass window was flung open, and sitting so near the window, he gave the whole court something to see. His beauty was rare and rich, as he was the youngest son of the King and Queen. He was a prince. However, he had a very different fate from the other princes of the kingdom.
By Stephanie Van Orman3 days ago in Fiction
The Day Everyone Stopped Looking at the Sky
On the morning the sky changed, no one noticed. Cars moved through traffic like obedient insects. Coffee cups steamed in bored hands. Notifications buzzed, chimed, and blinked like impatient fireflies demanding attention. Heads were bowed—not in prayer, not in reflection, but in devotion to glowing screens.
By Yasir khan3 days ago in Fiction
The Price of Perfection: A Glimpse into a Utopian Future
In the not-so-distant future, humanity has reached what was once thought impossible: a perfect world. No more wars, no more disease, no more hunger. Technology has solved everything, and for the first time in history, humans live in a society where every need is met with a simple thought. Welcome to the utopia of the future—where life is easy, and everyone is happy. Or are they?
By HazelnutLattea4 days ago in Fiction
The Baker's Paradox
Rutaa wiped the sweat draining off his bald head like a stream before drinking an entire goblet of water. The water wasn’t cool, nothing in his bakery was cool at the best of times, but the festival wasn't the best of times for a baker. He appreciated the humble reprieve none the less.
By Matthew J. Fromm5 days ago in Fiction
*#The Split#* Thursday, December 21, 2012
It was the day before court and this was supposed to be a quick and easy custody battle. Toby’s mother was hardly putting up a fight. With all the evidence she had practically handed him, and now Timmy breaks his arms sledding the day before court.
By Anton Mathias Heft 6 days ago in Fiction
Wednesday, October 24th, 2012
The courtroom in Kenosha County was brightly lit through the large row of windows along the Southern wall of the building. The antique wooden pews, wooden wall paneling and trim were all faded from many years of use. There was a musty smell that reminded Anton of the loft in his biological father’s garage, were he kept his stash of PlayBoy magazines. Unfortunately, that peaceful familiar aroma was being overpowered by the stench of body odor and weed radiating from the younger guy about ten feet away.
By Anton Mathias Heft 6 days ago in Fiction
