Fantasy
Shieldmaiden
Beneath the trees, the atmosphere was stifling. Halfdan struggled to negotiate a path through the dense undergrowth and soaring evergreens. The thick trunks leaned together conspiratorially, and entangled roots grasped at his feet. Dew coated everything, evidenced by his saturated garb. Halfdan paused to stretch. His old body ached, and the morning chill was not helping. They had been hunting since before sunrise with little luck. He peered through the half-light. The scattered shafts of sunlight that pierced the canopy struggled to illuminate the gloom of the forest floor. It was beautiful. Primeval.
By Zach Merovech4 years ago in Fiction
As God is My Witness
Six days before my wedding, I sorted the laundry and separated my underwear from the rest of the pile. As my father had decreed, they had to be white, and reach to the knees. Only a man could have selected white as the most suitable color for the undergarments of a fertile woman, and every month, I spent hours scrubbing mine with vinegar. I knew my father knew what I was doing, and I also knew that he regarded it as his early warning system, although the state of my underwear should be none of his business. Despite my ardent prayers, I could not rid myself of such rebellious thoughts.
By Zilla Jones4 years ago in Fiction
May 16
Why is May 16 such an important date to remember? Because that is precisely the day that the world ends. Such is life. It will begin with omens and portents such as Shiva, Goddess of Death turning her starry gaze earthwards from the heavens and gnashing her teeth. This event will occur earlier on April 21 because I have calculated, quantumly, that Shivas Avatar is my ex wife who shares her birthday with Hitler on the 21st day of April making it a pretty shoddy day overall and perfect for some portenshish omens, not to mention making a decent pre omen in advance of the total annilation of man on May 16, of next year.
By Richard Thompson4 years ago in Fiction
Guinevere
Even in the darkest of times one can always find the light within. The shrill cries of a baby erupted through the stone walls of Eros. A young woman, barely older than twenty years, lay writhing in pain, alone, and with only the sins of her soul to deliver her first and only child. It was a short labor, shorter than her mother and her mother’s mother had. How much she yearned to have her mother with her in this moment. She had no one to guide her as she delivered her baby in the hidden basement of her home, in the hopes no one would hear or see. Like many of the things in her life the baby’s birth caught her off guard. Her baby was three weeks early and decided to arrive in the dead of night, just before midnight. She was small, smaller than she should be, with barely a tuft of hair growing from her head. But she appeared healthy. Her skin was pink and plush, her heart strong.
By Kathryn Comitz4 years ago in Fiction
Goodbye
Headphones in, she bounced quickly down the steps into the metro station on her way to work. As she descended her steps became stilted as the shadows started to shift and bend and her vision blurred as she was hit with a sudden wave of dizziness. She blindly grasped for the handrail, hoping not to lose her footing as the blackness swam in front of her eyes. Just as quickly as it hit her, it subsided, and slowly, she lifted her head.
By Jennifer Renee4 years ago in Fiction
Madge's Sweet Shoppe
Maria hated to look both ways. But she did look, not because she was intimidated by the cars, trucks and trolleys that buzzed down Baker Street in a morning rush. But because Maria was a rule follower. It was the rule to look both ways. A law, really, as well-behaved, 10-year-old Maria might see it. It was that important. So, Maria looked. And then, she waited, until almost forever, as the sweeping traffic cleared a path from the bus stop to the ornate front door of Madge’s Sweet Shoppe. Maria was lured across Baker Street, enticed by wondrous imaginings of sweet, gooey treats. She clung tight to three small coins, now sticky and wet in her palm. The gold heart-shaped locket that had once belonged to her mum, her gran, and her great-gran before that, bounced against her chest as she ran. Wearing the family treasure over her heart always made Maria happy. It was 8:10 a.m.
By Sandra Alexander 4 years ago in Fiction
The Narlington Chronicles Vol. 1-4
“Stop, Annie! I do not think I belong here.” Bianca said, trembling, “O, not another one of her rants again!” Annie rolled her eyes, sensing “Princess Bianca’s” impending tirade. Annie interjected before Bianca spoke another word, “I know you never thought you fit in, with the way you look with your pale ghostly skin and thinly fine white hair.” Annie had grown accustomed to Bianca’s meltdowns and tantrums, “I am sorry if I have tormented you in the past.” Annie deliberately stopped and turned towards Bianca, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We have to help Papa; he is not as able as he once was, and I am afraid we do not have much time left with him in this realm,” Annie’s mood turned somber. “Ok, but I need to figure some Shit out!” Bianca said enigmatically, with a resolute voice.
By Tony Messina4 years ago in Fiction
